Chosen
by homeric
Summary: Post Apocalyptic AU. In a world where everything has gone to hell, seven men unite despite their differences to defend the weak, but in the fight to control Britain only the strongest will survive.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me.**_

_**Characters belong to Bruckheimer Films, premise belongs to me, but there's influences from half a dozen post apocalyptic films in there; I'll put my own spin on things though. This will not follow the film's plot for obvious reasons!**_

_There were several dozen religious cults that predicted the end of the world in the years before TXzero swept through its population, but none of them got it right. There wasn't any rain of fire, nor were groups of believers suddenly whisked away by a heavenly elevator, beamed up by spaceships or obliterated by rogue meteors. As T.S. Eliot had written with uncanny prescience; the world, or at least the world as everyone knew it, died "not with a bang but a whimper."_

_The virus spread in a matter of weeks. First as a strange illness afflicting a couple of fishermen in the Galapogas islands - more of a curiosity to the science community than any real threat - before it rampaged out of control. There was no established pattern that it adhered to: it was airborne, that at least the few scientists who lived long enough to record and share their data agreed on, but as to what it was or where it had come from, they had no idea. By the time the first investigators had started to show symptoms their colleagues were already on planes back to America and Switzerland. When they started to show signs of illness, dying within days of internal bleeding and respiratory failure that refused to respond to anything even the most cutting edge medical advancements had to offer, it was clear that there was a problem. Their respective governments did their best to contain the risk, but by then it was already far too late. _

_The cabin crew ferrying the unfortunate scientists had infected other planes within twenty four hours, unwittingly spreading the contagion. A simple sneeze in a crowded airport infected two dozen other people who in turn infected a hundred others boarding different planes, and more worried about plummeting to their deaths than something microscopic whirling around the recycled air they shared with their fellow passengers. Within two weeks hospitals were unable to cope with the sheer numbers of dead and dying, within three chaos reigned and the hastily assembled military forces were as decimated as the rest of the population._

_One accusation that could not be levelled at whatever God had struck down his children was the lack of a sense of humour. While perhaps two percent of the general population seemed to be naturally immune to the virus, the figure rose much higher; as much as ninety percent, when it came to the high security prison population. The few scientists that survived the virus speculated that it might have had something to do with practice of "tagging" criminals with a small chip that emitted a very low amount of radiation, but there was no conclusive proof either way. Whatever the reasons, it was not long before most of the prisoners turned on their guards, freeing themselves and others, and forming gangs that rampaged through what was left of Britain. Terrified and starving, the remaining population moved north and huddled in small communities, protected by a military that operated in small cells, commanded by the Prime Minister and his cabinet. But as the year went on, communication of any kind faltered, and as the military found themselves growing short of supplies and ammunition, the gangs to the south strengthened and united under the banner of a man who was known only as Saxon._

**The Theta Base, Hadrian's Wall. March 3rd 2014 **

It had been eleven months, eighteen days and.. Commander Castus looked at his watch, shook it and sighed. A measure of hours less than an a dozen but more than six since the world had officially gone to hell. The battered Rolex that had served him since his graduation from military academy had chosen this of all times to give up the ghost, and he unfastened it from his wrist and let it drop to ground with a pang of regret.

It had been worth something, less than a year ago, but now it was nothing more than a useless reminder that everything had an expiration date that invariably came too soon. Leaving it glittering prettily in the rough grass, Arthur ground the embers of his cigarette into the ground and looked around warily. All seemed quiet. The turrets that punctuated the double barbed wire fence were silent, and beyond the safety of the "Wall", nothing stirred.

Not that it didn't mean anything was watching of course.

Running a hand through his dark hair, Castus headed towards the barracks; utilitarian in their neat concrete uniformity and illuminated in the darkness: little boxes holding little pockets of humanity in what was still called "Great Britain" by those who had a sense of irony. A couple of guards nodded to him as he passed. Mostly younger soldiers, either sullen or over eager to please. Arthur didn't pay them much mind beyond a brief nod of acknowledgement. His rank and reputation made him a hero of sorts to some of the more easily led lads at the base, but the admiration in their eyes chafed at him sometimes. His victories had come at a cost, and while he had tried to lead the men under his command as best he could, in the early days of the war they had all been ill prepared and ill informed of the risks they faced. There were almost three dozen graves in the cemetery at the top of the hill that bore witness to that particular fact. The latest, a man by the name of Ford; a good, solid soldier who had been known for his calmness under fire, had been laid to rest only a couple of days ago. They were learning, he and the rest of his comrades, but too slowly, and though they were struggling to understand their enemies, their enemies seemed to have an almost psychic ability when it came to understanding _them._

Pushing open the door to the central building, Arthur automatically kicked the mud from his boots and refastened the top buttons of his camouflage shirt. General Germanius might be a royal prick, but getting in and out of the meeting he had been summoned to would go a lot more smoothly if he looked presentable while he was nodding politely and planning to ignore most of his orders. Squaring his shoulders, he rapped sharply on the heavy door at the end of the hallway and entered the fort's inner sanctum.

The general made no attempt to rise when his commander entered, merely leaning over the wide expanse of his desk _(mahogany, seventeenth century, Arthur thought distractedly)_ and giving the younger man a tight smile.

"Sit." He nodded towards a well stuffed chair. "Would you like a drink? Whisky? Brandy?"

Arthur was sorely tempted, but didn't let his eyes flicker over to the well stocked drinks cabinet. Half the population out there were living in poverty and the man charged with protecting them was acting as though he were a member of a country club. All he wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible and perhaps join what was left of his men in a game of cards.

"I must congratulate you on your last mission," Germanius said approvingly. "Seventeen of the north Saxon mob dead, and only one fatality; truly you train your men well."

"It was one fatality too many," Arthur snapped before thinking. Noting the brief flash of satisfaction in the General's eyes, he had a sudden uneasy feeling that he'd walked into a trap. Moderating his tone, he continued more calmly. "The men fought well, they'd fight even better if they were better supplied, Sir. At close range the automatics don't.."

"Arthur, Arthur." Germanius waved his arguments away with no little condescension. "If we but only had the resources. But that was not what I wished to speak to you about. Given your talent for leadership I cannot help but feel that you are underused in the position you are now. Therefore I am transferring you."

Arthur felt his heart sink, but held his tongue. It was obvious that the older man was looking for some sort of reaction and he was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"We have a new group of men fresh in today. Not particularly well trained but skilled. I'm going to give you three months to see what you can do with them - there are some particularly delicate assignments that I've ear marked for them provided that you can whip them into shape." He gave a small smile, little sharp incisors gleaming white behind his fleshy lower lip. "And I'm sure that you can. I would hate to be disappointed in you Commander, especially given your pedigree."

_I'm not a fucking show dog and I know exactly what you are doing, _Arthur thought, forcing the burn of anger down while keeping his expression impassive.

"And what of my men?" He asked. "Are they to be incorporated into this troop?"

"Your men?" The General's voice was tinged with a faint surprise that belied the watchfulness of his eyes. "They're on their way to Manchester. You should be proud of them - General Harrison was quite adamant that they alone were good enough."

"They've already left?" Castus phrased it as a question, but he already knew the answer. To ask about the men he had led, fought beside and cared about would be used as another excuse for a lecture on how the very few "elite"( private school, military academy, dusty medals grandad got out when he was pissed at Christmas and raved about past glories) left should stick together. Caring about the men you led to death was sentimental nonsense. Protect your position and damn the rest for the greater good.

"Half an hour ago." The General waited for a moment, obviously hoping for a protest, but Arthur remained silent. Focussing on the heavy paperweight that sat upon the desk, he noticed the preserved form of a butterfly trapped in the green glass, and wondered if it would fly free if he smashed the object into his superior's face.

Obviously disappointed by the commander's lack of response, the General rose to his feet and edged around the desk.

"Well then, I think it's time you met your new troop, don't you?"

Arthur merely nodded, following the portly General out of the room and down the corridor. Instead of moving towards the usual briefing rooms that were used for new arrivals and meetings, Germanius walked down the hall and started down the service stairs that led to the dining hall in the bunker below. The noise escalated as they descended the stairs; the low hum of chatter interspersed with laughter and the occasional voice raised in anger. A typical mealtime at the fort, but one that Arthur wasn't sure why they were interrupting. Expecting the General to make his presence known and make a big announcement, he was surprised when he stopped before entering the hall, both of them still concealed in the shadows of the stairwell.

"Well, commander," Germanius said with a hint of amusement. "First table on the left, what do you think?"

Five men were sat around a long table and although the wariness of their eyes and the stiffness of their postures indicated that they were ill at ease and had recognized the new arrivals, none of them looked up.

_Samartians,_ Arthur thought automatically. He didn't need to look at the smile, so polite and yet so eloquent, that Germanius gave to realize that he had been royally screwed over.

His new assignment wasn't training inexperienced soldiers and leading them into strategic attacks against the enemy, nor even the less showy but no less necessary reconnaissance missions he'd been anticipating. Every one of the men had a number tattooed across the back of their neck.

Convicts.

Convicts from Samartia prison, the only penitentiary left that had thought it necessary to not only chip but tattoo the men locked behind its gates. Men that made up a significant portion of the Saxon gangs.

Mentally grabbing hold of his panic and squashing it down, Arthur ran the appraising eyes of a soldier over the five men. One sat on the edge of the bench, dark hair long enough to conceal his expression but not the fact that he had obviously realized that they were being watched. Beside him two stocky men in their forties ate. The shorter of the two traded what must have been an insult with the blond man sat opposite, before being interrupted by a lad who looked far too young to have earned his place in one of the UK's more notorious prisons . The group were mismatched by age, build, and most likely combat experience, and the regulation boots and generic cammo attire did nothing to disguise them amongst the two hundred or so men around them wearing the exact same clothing. The men might eat with soldiers but they held themselves with a defiance and a wariness that was wholly at odds with the pack like solidarity of those around them.

"Were they captured or are they volunteers?" Arthur asked quietly. "Sir," he added with as little anger as he could.

"Volunteers, would you believe it." Germanius's voice echoed the amusement that flashed within his eyes as he watched the small group. "Believe me, if they were spies they would have talked by now. Vulpine was more than persuasive when he interviewed them."

_I'll bet, _the commander thought to himself. What the little red haired interrogator lacked in height he more than made up for in imagination when it came to prising secrets from those deemed untrustworthy. _And now he would have to gain some of that trust back and pretend that, as convicts, they wouldn't be offered up as cannon fodder without hesitation by the people they had switched allegiances to help save. _

"Five isn't many sir," he said quietly.

"Six." There was an expression on the General's face that made every muscle in Arthur's body tense as though waiting for a blow. Following the older man's gaze at first all he noticed was the back of the man's head. The tattoo on the neck marked him as a Samartian convict, but the dark hair curling over the nape would cover it in a few short months if left untrimmed. _It always did grow too fast, _Arthur thought illogically. The man turned away from the poker game he'd been participating in and for a moment their eyes met. Pausing for barely a second, the man's dark eyes skittered away and he rejoined the rest of the prisoners, pointedly ignoring the watchers.

"_Lancelot_." Arthur's voice came out as barely more than a croak.

General Germanius gave a smile of quiet satisfaction.

"He came in with three of the others a week ago, I thought it only fair that you be the one to train him. Brothers in arms and all that? With a little discipline he might yet follow in his big brother's footsteps." When the young commander didn't answer him, he gave a huff of irritation. Castus had resolutely refused to rise to any bait he had given, much to his chagrin. Nor had he shown the proper deference that should be shown to a man of his rank. _Cocky bastard doesn't know his place_, Germanius thought irritably. He'd thought acquiring the commander's black sheep of a brother might provide a little entertainment, but it seemed that the man was determined to deny him that as well.

"Are there any further orders, Sir?" Arthur's words were calm and controlled; he could have been talking about the weather, and irritated and eager to escape the lower echelons of the camp, the General merely turned to ascend the stairs.

"The paperwork is with Jols - he's sorted their barracks out, have your men ready for combat in four days." He paused halfway up the stairs. "And don't give them any live ammunition until you know which side they'll be using it on."

The insults registered, but Arthur was too preoccupied to be angry. Waiting until Germanius was out of sight, he descended the last few stairs and approached his new platoon.

**A/N: Lol, I'm quite possibly going to get hate mail for this story, but never mind, I wanted to do something a bit different. Yup, Lancelot is Arthur's brother and I'll be tweaking a few of the connections between the "knights" too. No slash though - nothing against it, just can't write it. Guinevere will be making an appearance as will Merlin. I'll try and keep everyone in character as far as I can though.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**A/N: There will be more swearing than I usually use in my fics, simply because it doesn't feel right writing the dialogue without it. Most of the characters are prisoners or in the army and since their circumstances are pretty gritty, so is their language. Just a warning for those that aren't keen on that sort of thing.**

Lancelot felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with the sure but inexplicable feeling that he was being watched, and took care not to let his unease affect his behaviour. The cards that he had been dealt weren't bad; certainly good enough for him to have bluffed convincingly, but the poker game he had instigated with a few bored soldiers had suddenly lost its appeal. Getting up from the table and brushing away the jibes of other players, he merely gave an eloquent shrug and turned back to the motley group of men he had joined a few weeks before. He kept his gaze casual as it swept around the dining hall, but the sight of the two men partially hidden in the shadows jolted him enough that there was no way that he could disguise his reaction.

_Arthur._

The familiar mask he used when dealing with members of his family clicked into place almost without thinking, and he gave his older brother a sardonic smile to mask the churning emotions that threatened to choke him. Taking a few steps over to the table occupied by his fellow ex prisoners, he took a deep draught of his lager (low alcohol content - those who must be obeyed didn't want their grunts getting too wasted - but better than nothing) and placed it on the table with studied nonchalance. Across from him, Tristan gave an almost inaudible snort of amusement, and Lancelot met his strange amber eyes with irritation.

"Something wrong Tristan?" He snapped, welcoming a diversion to his own conflicted thoughts.

The older man merely shrugged, lazily watching him with a half smile upon his face.

"If that's your poker face then it's no surprise you always lose," he said, taking a draught of his own lager and brushing a hand over his lips. "No self control."

"And you'd know all about self control, would you Tristan?" Lancelot retorted. "How many Saxon scum had you killed when I met you? Ten? Twenty? Talk about bloodlust - you make Hannibal Lector look like the fucking Easter Bunny."

Tristan merely shrugged a sinewy shoulder and finished his drink. "A little old to be still believing in the Easter Bunny aren't you?" He said without rancour.

Lancelot got to his feet, familiar anger wiping away any common sense, before someone grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back down onto the bench . He made a brief attempt to struggle, but gave up when he met Dagonet's solemn grey eyes. Dag was built like the proverbial brick shit house, and although he was calm and quiet usually, he certainly wasn't to be messed with.

"We have enough fights ahead of us without starting with each other," the big man said firmly. "I suggest you calm down."

The calm, level tone reminded Lancelot for a painful moment of Arthur. Arthur the voice of reason, Arthur who cast a shadow so long that he always felt lost in the darkness. Arthur who had punched out two dealers, dragged him out of the junkie den he'd spent a week tripping his tits off in, and had cried when he'd taken him home and tried to clean him up. That last memory was a little too sharp and much to painful. Unconsciously rubbing the faint bumps of scar tissue at the crook of his elbow, he shoved the thoughts away and turned his attention back to the stairwell. His brother was still talking to that weasley looking man. From the way that they kept glancing over at their table the little group of Samartian prisoners were obviously the subject of the conversation. _What did he and the others have to look forward to?_ Lancelot wondered with dark amusement. _Guinea pig duty for some mad scientist - hell he'd seen enough films; bases like this always had a nutter in a white coat down in the basement carving people up for experiments or satanic voodoo crap. Or maybe they'd get lucky and just be used as bait or canon fodder._ With tired resignation he acknowledged to himself that while the first theory was unlikely, the second was very likely fact. _Why the hell had he volunteered for this anyway_?

"You ok, Lance?" Gawain's low voice sounded concerned, and Lancelot managed to shake his head and give a small smile. The blond watched him steadily with disconcertingly blue eyes, and his smile became a little more genuine. _You'd think Gawain had enough on his plate keeping an eye on the young hot head,_ he thought, _without worrying about the rest of us as well._

"Fine." He gave a shrug and felt the heavy weight of Dagonet's hand lift from his shoulder. "Bit stir crazy that's all."

"Yeah, well be glad of it lad," Bors advised. Rolling his broad shoulders, he looked over to the rest of the soldiers. "We'll be out god knows where with them soon enough and we won't exactly be high up on the pecking order neither. Be lucky to get enough time to sleep, let alone get bored."

"Nice attempt at optimism there," Galahad said sarcastically. "I didn't know you were such an authority on military politics, Bors. Weren't you a brick layer before you got banged up?"

"Gal.." Gawain said warningly, but it was too late.

Bors was on his feet with a swiftness that belied his solid bulk. "Look sonny, I was a squaddie when your mum was still in training bras, don't you.."

"Leave my mother out of this!" Galahad rose up and looked set to leap over the table had Gawain not grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Gasping at the sudden pain, the younger man glared at his friend and opened his mouth to argue, but Dagonet gave him a look that made him think twice. Noting that the big man had clamped a hand on Bors's arm to restrain him, Lancelot gave a sudden laugh that had all of the men staring at him.

"Jesus, Dag," Lancelot said with a chuckle. "You're wasted here, you should have been in the bloody United Nations."

The tension lifted and Bors gave a short bark of a laugh, his temper forgotten as soon as it had kindled. Gawain grinned and even Galahad suppressed a smile, although he gave Gawain a black look and made a show of rolling his shoulder.

"Don't I wish," Dagonet grumbled. "It'd be a hell of a lot easier than trying to keep you lot from each other's throats."

"We've got company," Tristan said quietly, and immediately the laughter stopped. _It was strange, _Lancelot mused. _Tristan never raised his voice, but when he spoke everyone always listened._ As always he was right - the shaggy dark hair might always seem to be falling into his eyes, but it certainly didn't affect the way he always seemed to be almost preternaturally aware of everything around him.

Arthur was walking towards them, and squashing down the strange mixture of joy, resentment, guilt and fear, Lancelot rearranged his features into the faint smirk that had always seemed to irritate his older brother. Arthur himself was playing hard to read as well, he noticed. He hadn't changed much since he'd last seen him _(but don't think about that, not now, not ever); _there were a few more lines bracketing his eyes and his hair was shorter - _he looked a lot like their father_, Lancelot thought with a little disquiet. His bearing was confident, his steps even, and despite himself the younger man felt him respond to the quiet authority. From the silent watchfulness of the men beside him, they weren't immune from it either.

"Gentlemen." He stopped at the head of the table and looked at them with calm appraisal. "I am Commander Castus. As of today you have been assigned to my authority, both to train and lead in combat. As you are well aware, we need as many trained and willing fighters as possible to counter the Saxon attacks. To that end as far as I am concerned you were all born today. I have no interest in your histories, your backgrounds or why you came to be here. I will try to treat you fairly and negotiate for the same privileges that are enjoyed by other soldiers from less questionable backgrounds. In turn I expect nothing less than full and unquestioning obedience and diligence in your duties. If we are to survive we must work as a cohesive team."

_Fuck, he really has turned into father, _Lancelot thought with surprised awe.

"Finish your drinks and be at meeting room seven, next to the barracks, by," he glanced at the big clock "Four o clock. There you will be de-briefed and shown to your accommodation." With a curt nod, he turned as though anticipating that no-one would dare question anything he had said, and walked away, pausing only briefly to exchange a few words with another high ranking soldier.

Bors let a deep breath and looked around the table.

"Well lads, what do you reckon?"

Gawain shrugged. "Makes a nice change not being addressed as "Samartian scum". I could get used to that."

"D'you reckon he lost a bet or something?" Gawain wondered. "I mean he seemed alright - competent . I thought they'd dump some div who didn't know a rifle from his arse on us instead of wasting a decent soldier."

"Now who's Mr Optimism?" Bors mocked. "What about you, Dag."

The bigger man shrugged and swallowed the rest of his drink. "Only time will tell. I believe we could have done worse though."

It took a moment before Lancelot realized that he had been asked a question. Glancing up in surprise, he briefly met Tristan's eyes and saw a knowingness in them that made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"He said what do reckon of our new boss," Galahad repeated.

Lancelot hesitated. There were two courses of action he could take: feign ignorance and hope Arthur kept quiet about their relationship, or come clean. After a brief internal struggle which lasted half a second - there was no choice really; the truth was bound to come out sooner or later and he couldn't risk losing the trust of men who he would have to rely on to back him up in battle- he confessed.

"He's a good man, a good soldier." Picking up his glass he took a steadying gulp of the weak drink and wished it was whisky instead. "He's also my brother."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence before several men started asking questions at once.

"Shut up," Tristan said quietly, and as usual the chatter stopped.

Lancelot shrugged as though it was no big deal. " Arthur took the military route, I took whatever I could snort, shoot up or swallow. It lead to divergent lifestyles, what can I say?" He gave a brief smile which fell decidedly flat. "We haven't seen each other in three years."

"Is that why he's been assigned us lot then d'you reckon?" Galahad asked. "Because of you?"

Lancelot shook his head. "I doubt it. I know Arthur, and he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Besides even if he is a commander, I can't see them letting him pick and choose his assignments like that, he's too good to waste on something that he wants for personal reasons." _Plus the last time I saw him I told him that I never wanted to see him again and almost stabbed him with a kitchen knife, _he thought but did not say aloud_._

"Fate sometimes moves in mysterious ways," Tristan remarked idly.

Galahad snorted with amusement. "Ooh listen to Madame Mystic over there, never would have guessed you'd be into that mumbo-jumbo Tristan. 'That what those tat's are for?" He gestured at the tribal tattoos that marked the older man's cheeks. "Leylines to the afterlife?"

"No." The word was spoken softly, but there was a look in the man's eyes that had Lancelot tensing incase Tristan tried to break the boy's neck. For once in his life Galahad saw sense and shut up instantly.

"Maybe it'll work to our advantage," Gawain said hopefully. "There's got to be a few perks to being the Commander's brother right, Lancelot?"

The other man shrugged. Personally he doubted it - favouritism didn't really go with Arthur's innate sense of fair play.

"Time to go," Dag announced, nodding at the clock and getting to his feet. The other's followed his lead, Bors, Galahad and Gawain speculating on the conditions of their living quarters and whether there would be any women stationed nearby, Tristan quiet and intent, stalking past the other soldiers without looking at them. Lancelot brought up the rear, feeling miserable and confused and without any idea how he and his brother were going to tolerate being in the same room together, let alone fight side by side.

**A/N: A talky, talky chapter I'm afraid. Don't worry there's action and excitement (I hope!) to come. Sorry I didn't reply to my lovely reviewers - FFNet went a bit wonky these past few days - your comments were much appreciated though :). In answer to a couple of questions, you will find out why and how the "knights" became prisoners during the story. Some of them have done pretty bad things but for strong reasons - they'll still be heroes. They'll be more on why Lancelot started his downward spiral and his relationship with Arthur too. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The view out of the window was nothing if not depressing.

Arthur watched the people go about their business in the camp behind the barracks; the women and children quiet and competent as they went about their everyday tasks. Compared to some of the pitiful excuses of habitation he had seen in the more isolated areas of the country, the camp wasn't that bad. The water was clean and plentiful, medical supplies were available, and for the most part the people sheltered by the wall were protected from Saxon gang attacks. But there was a difference between living and surviving that the Commander could not have put into words until the virus had robbed most of the population of their lives, and the rest of any hope. Watching as two boys made their way carefully down the central path, balancing a bucket of water between them, Commander Castus felt a sudden pang of sadness. Turn back the clock twenty years and it could have been him and Lancelot doggedly facing the odds together_. Brothers until the end,_ they'd sworn. _And look how well that had turned out._

Addiction, jealousy and recrimination had torn them apart, but now it seemed they had a second chance. _One he would take, _he told himself firmly. _Finding his brother alive was a blessing not a curse wasn't it?_

Unaccountably nervous, Arthur opened the window, flicked the catch and then shut it again. He had spoken to Lancelot (alright not specifically), had given orders to his new troop (although he hadn't given them a chance to say two words to him) and had laid down the law (_his_ law, and since when had he become as rigid and unyielding as his father?). So why did he feel as though he had lost the first round of a battle not of his choosing?

Flopping back into the hard plastic chair, Arthur reached for the files that Jols had placed upon his desk beside a tumbler of whisky. The files he had requested, the whisky he had not. Apparently the clerk had deemed the alcohol necessary, and with a wry grin Arthur gave a silent toast to him. One of the only perks of his position was having the solemn man assigned to him; a barrel of laughs Jols might not be, but he had an uncanny ability to anticipate any eventuality and prepare for it without being asked.

Flicking open the first folder, Arthur skimmed through the contents, ignoring anything other than the bare facts pertaining to each of the men allocated to him. Descriptions of their crimes were described in soulless detail as was any account of how the men had served their prison time. Every detail spelled out in black and white. Twenty minutes later, the Commander had enough information to leave him with far more questions than answers. Dagonet and Bors's case seemed fairly straight forward; while murder might not be excusable, Arthur could certainly see why the two cousins had been driven to it. The two younger men were more difficult to judge; either they were very unlucky or very good actors. The jury which had convicted Gawain and Galahad had seemed as conflicted as the evidence against the two men was dubious. Arthur tossed Lancelot's file aside without reading it. There was nothing printed on the low quality paper that he couldn't recreate in inglorious Technicolor if he allowed himself the luxury of revisiting old memories.

And then there was the last file. The largest and by far the most disturbing. Tristan Kelly had apparently spent most of his life as gamekeeper to a large estate just outside Edinburgh . Not a hint of trouble noted until his wife and young son had been killed in an arson attack. After that the man had apparently lost his mind, brutally murdering several peers of the realm who had been unlucky enough to be staying at the hunting lodge he was in charge of. Justice had been swift - life without any chance of parole, but unfortunately the Txzero virus was faster. Tristan had spent only a couple of weeks incarcerated before the world went to hell.

All of the men placed under his command were convicted killers, and yet all had voluntarily approached the camp and handed over their weapons to men who had nothing but contempt for them. _Why?_

Rubbing a hand wearily over his forehead, Arthur fought the craving for a cigarette. Rations were tight, and he had a feeling he'd need the nicotine fix more come the evening. Knocking back the last of the whisky instead, he tidied away the files and concentrated on forming a plan of action. That the men he had been assigned were viewed as expendable by his superiors he had no doubt. He'd been given only a few days to knock them into shape before they'd be chucked out onto the front line, probably as decoys to take the heat off the "real" soldiers. The Saxon mob they would face would be ruthless, and although not formally trained in the traditional sense, more than capable with the weapons they had acquired.

He'd have to find out what if any skills his new troop had and attempt to establish some sort of trust between them fast, otherwise he might as well just put a bullet in their heads now and save the enemy the bother.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside, brought him out of his thoughts, and glancing at the clock on his desk, Arthur realised that it was four o clock. _At least the men were punctual, _he thought wryly. A sharp knock signalled Jols's arrival, and Arthur nodded when the clerk poked his head around the door and informed him of the men waiting outside.

"Bring them in," he said quietly.

The soldiers entered with a wary curiosity disguised as bravado that reminded Arthur of the stray dogs that slunk around the back of the dining hall looking for scraps. The two oldest (Dagonet and Bors, cousins united by both blood and the murder of a convicted pedophile, Arthur remembered), stood side by side, dominating the room both by their size and the force of their quiet confidence. A little behind them two younger men stood looking a little less self-assured, their curiosity as they appraised him evident. _Gawain and Galahad. _They looked different from the mug shots in their files - Galahad was missing the beard he had sported and Gawain had lost a good foot of tangled blond dreadlocks. They looked fit and well muscled though, and that boded well, Arthur thought. Too many stragglers who made their way to the Wall were so malnourished that lifting a rifle would have been an effort, let alone firing it.

And then there was Tristan Kelly. The man stood a little way from the rest of the group, his face expressionless. He sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs when Arthur asked them to be seated and didn't say anything, but Arthur had the uncomfortable feeling that the dark haired man was studying him and reserving judgement as to whether he was worth following. A little irritated at being unnerved, (God, hadn't he lead a dozen troops through hell and back , and got most of them back alive? earning himself a fearsome reputation in the meantime?) Castus made their position clear, outlining the risks they would be taking without attempting to sugar coat the truth. None of the men said anything as he told them of the training they would be given and why it would be needed. When asked, Tristan, Bors, Dagonet and Gawain admitted to having some fire arms training; Gawain having shot rabbits at his family's farm when he was younger, Bors and Dagonet being ex military and seemingly fairly knowledgeable, although perhaps not quite up to date with some of the more recent developments in technology. Tristan had apparently been used to culling deer when it was needed and was proficient with a rifle.

It was better than Arthur had hoped, if not as good as he might have wished. The youngest, Galahad, was the only member of the group who had no experience with guns, but from the lad's quiet concentration, Arthur wasn't too worried. All the men would have new skills to learn in the next couple of days and from what his instincts told him he would have good students. Noting the way the shadows had lengthened in the room, Commander Castus got to his feet.

"I'll show you to your quarters."

Not his job really, but he'd watched and learned enough to know that separating himself from his men now would only backfire in the long run. The men fell into almost military formation behind him and Arthur had to stifle a smile. Bors and Dagonet, Gawain and Galahad. The two pairs matched each other step for step, Tristan watching their back as though they were in the open and not in one of the safest buildings in Britain. Lancelot walked beside the older man, but had none of his fluid grace. Meeting his younger brother's eyes, Arthur steeled himself for what he had to do.

Jols had, as usual, carried out his duties flawlessly. The quarters awaiting his men were not luxurious in any shape or form, but neither were they inferior to any of the other soldiers' accommodation. Each room had a bed with a mattress and a couple of blankets, a chest of draws and a window that looked out towards the tangle of barbed wire that surrounded the barracks. Allocating each room to the men, Castus waited until he and Lancelot were alone before following his brother into his room and closing the door behind them.

Lancelot walked over to the window, but gave the view only a passing glance. Looking back towards Arthur he turned and leant against the wall.

"Hey, bruv," he said quietly. "Bet you weren't expecting this."

Arthur stayed where he was. A big part of him wanted nothing more than to cross the room and hug the brother he had loved despite his flaws, but acknowledging that Lancelot would most likely shy away from such overt shows of affection, he stayed where he was.

"No." Arthur couldn't help the wry grin that softened his expression. "Should have known that you of all people would have been bloody minded enough to survive though. What did you do? Stay alive just to piss me off?"

Lancelot grinned, dark eyes gleaming, _(mother's eyes, _Arthur noted. _Either wicked or warm)._

"Gotta get my kicks somehow," he said with a nonchalance that fell only slightly short of being genuine. "I'm glad that I got to see you turn into dad though: that whole speech in the canteen - what did you do, practice it in front of the mirror?"

"Didn't have time." Arthur answered before the familiar irritation he felt led to him saying something he would regret. "Look.."

"Yeah, you're the boss, I get it." Lancelot slumped onto the bed and crossed his arms. "Don't worry, I'll be a good little boy and do as I'm told."

"That wasn't.." Arthur caught himself before he lost his temper. Lancelot was watching him with a familiar sardonic smile, and he pushed his anger away. There was more at stake here than family history. "The men you are with. Can I trust them?"

It was a bold question, but Lancelot didn't hesitate when it came to answering.

"They're good men. But you already know that don't you? You could have got them transferred if you had really wanted to." He watched his elder brother sadly. "Galahad, Gawain and Dag'll follow you without question, Bors'll bitch but he'll follow his cousin. Tristan will slaughter half the country to protect you if he thinks you're worth saving, and will walk away if he thinks you aren't."

"And you?" The distance between he and his brother could have been crossed in a matter of steps, but for the moment it could have been as wide as the Atlantic ocean. Lancelot opened his mouth to speak , but before he could reply, an explosion rocked the building, sending both men tumbling to the floor.

Ears ringing, and choking on dust filled air, Arthur reached automatically for the rifle slung over his shoulder and flicked the safety off. Scrabbling towards the doorway he pulled a gun from his boot and tossed it towards his brother. Lancelot caught it effortlessly and slunk over to the other side of the doorway. _Saxons?_ he mouthed.

Arthur nodded and flinched as another explosion rocked the foundations of the barracks. From the looks of things his men might die in combat before they had even had a chance to pick up a rifle.

**A/N: thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapters **


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**_

Lancelot rubbed away the dust that was clogging his nose, and shoved himself against the doorway. The explosion had made him temporarily deaf, and he was glad that Arthur merely nodded at his question - anything his brother would have said would have been inaudible. Their room seemed fairly stable; all the dust and debris had been blown in from the corridor, and satisfied that the roof wasn't going to come down on his head in the next couple of minutes, Lancelot made a quick assesment of the weapon that Arthur had thrown him_. Glock 10mm,_ he thought approvingly. _Very pretty, but then his brother always did have class. _Curving his hand around the solid steel with the muscle memory borne of a junior shooting champion, Lancelot glanced over at Arthur.

The commander was crouched, rifle at the ready. Ducking his head around the doorframe quickly, he withdrew it immediately when a hail of gunfire bit chunks out of wall above him. Scuffling backwards, keeping low, he glanced at his brother.

_How many? _Lancelot mouthed. Arthur raised his free hand and showed three fingers before edging towards the doorframe again. Given the angle of the doorway and the position of the attackers, Arthur was far more vulnerable than him, and suddenly more worried than he would admit, Lancelot gestured to get his attention. _Play dead, _Lancelot mouthed to his brother. Arthur looked at him with confusion, and exasperated that he couldn't speak out loud without betraying his position, Lancelot used the hand not steadying his weapon to point to Arthur and mime shooting himself in the head. When his brother raised an eyebrow, he continued by nodding towards the direction of their attackers and making a walking action with his fingers. Pointing at Arthur and then himself he mimed shooting whoever it was that came to investigate.

The crack of gunfire that pinged large pieces of wood off the door way prevented Arthur from replying for a moment, but the expression on his face was fairly easy to read, Lancelot thought. Somewhere between _are you trying to kill me? _and _are you insane?_ he reckoned. Before his brother had a chance to answer, he mouthed _any better ideas?_

Arthur glanced between him and the hallway with evident frustration. They were pinned down and there was only one exit from the barracks - past the attackers. Further along the corridor the rest of the Sarmatians were stationed, but unarmed and with no escape they had no chance against automatic weapons.

For a moment Lancelot thought Arthur was going to refuse; he was after all putting his life in the hands of someone who had managed to screw up everything he'd done before, but to Lancelot's astonishment his brother dropped to the ground, his body credibly crumpled, his rifle by his hand.

_Fuck me, _Lancelot thought. Suddenly his idea seemed very, very, stupid and very, very dangerous. There were muffled shouts from the corridor and although the distant gunfire carried on, the guns just outside fell silent. The heavy tread of boots thudded closer, and Lancelot tensed, his throat tight, his finger curled around the trigger of the heavy pistol. Closer, closer, they came, and shifting his weight forward slightly, nerves so taut they thrummed, Lancelot waited until a man peered through the doorway, his rifle raised as though to nudge the dead body before him. It took only a millisecond to register the man's long hair and scruffy appearance, before Lancelot raised his gun and splattered the man's brains onto the wall behind him. Leaping to his feet, he dodged into the hallway, keeping low and firing at the two Saxons who were too startled to react as quickly as they should have done. One went down with a scream as he was hit in the thigh and abdomen, but the other was faster. Lancelot felt a burn of pain race down his side, the impact knocking him sideways and smacking his head on the wall. Dazed, he only half saw the barrel of the AK 47 as it lowered towards his head before it jerked up and away as a hail of gunfire took half its owner's head off.

"Lance?" Arthur's voice was so tense it hardly sounded like him. "Are you alright?"

His brother hauled him to his feet, hazel eyes running over him worriedly. Lancelot wanted to say that he was fine, but the words choked in his throat when he noticed the wounded guard open his eyes and raise his gun towards Arthur's back.

"Arth…" Before he had a chance to finish the warning, the Saxon's head smacked backwards onto the ground, a kitchen knife buried in his left eye. "What the fuck?" Lancelot murmured, more surprised than shocked.

Arthur let go of Lancelot, who swayed but kept his footing, and turned to the direction the knife had come from, raising his rifle as he did so. Tristan stood in the middle of the corridor, eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger as he watched the dead man twitching in his last death throes. He seemed not at all worried by the rifle pointed in his direction, and walking forward he ignored the two men and withdrew his knife from the dead Saxon's eye. The squishy sucking noise as the blade came free was something that Lancelot was fairly sure would haunt his nightmares for some time to come.

"Shouldn't turn your back on 'em," he said, wiping the blade on his trousers. "Head, throat or heart - that's the only way to be sure that they stay down when they're hit."

"Tris," Lancelot said weakly. "Have I ever told you that you're really fucking scary sometimes?"

The older man shrugged as though the thought either had not occurred to him or if it had, didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Might want to get the others," he suggested to Arthur who didn't seem to know what to make of the last minute's events. "Building's not stable, don't want to get buried here."

"Right." Arthur blinked and seemed to pull himself together. "You two stay here." Reaching down he picked up the Glock that his brother had dropped, and after a moments hesitation, the rifle one of the dead Saxons had been using. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked Tristan.

The dark haired man gave a small, sardonic smile. "Do bears shit in the woods?"

"You're the gamekeeper, you tell me," Arthur muttered. Handing Tristan the gun, he kept hold of it for a second longer than necessary, never breaking eye contact. The older man gave a tiny nod that might have been acknowledgement before taking the rifle and checking it. "You stay here," Arthur repeated. "No moving out unless I say so or there is no other choice. Is that understood?" He pinned Lancelot with a fixed stare, and despite himself the younger man wanted to grin.

_Aaaand back to Commander Castus we go,_ he thought. _Bye, bye, big brother. _Resisting the childish urge to give a little sarcastic wave as Arthur made his way down the barracks, Lancelot turned his attention to Tristan. The northerner was running his fingers over the sleek lines of the Ak 47, checking the magazine and the casing with an affection most men reserved for beautiful women.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Lancelot asked with amusement. "Don't know if they've got a boudoir here, but I could ask Arthur." Tristan merely gave him a look of irritation and swung the strap of the gun onto his shoulder. There was gunfire far away, but aside from the sounds of Arthur and the rest of the men talking behind them, they didn't seem to be in any immediate danger. Ignoring the stickiness of blood beneath his boots, Lancelot glanced at the bodies at his feet before turning his attention back to the man beside him. "Where'd you get the knife anyway, Tris?" he asked. "We were all frisked when we got here, where'd you hide it?"

Tristan gave a half shrug, but didn't take his eyes off the corridor. "Nicked it off a soldier in the canteen."

Lancelot thought about that for a moment. Tristan had been with the rest of them the whole time and none of the soldiers had got too close to any of the Samartians. When?" He asked, puzzled.

"When he wasn't looking." The older man sounded faintly irritated, but Lancelot couldn't help pushing him a little.

"Got anything else hidden under the cammos?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"You can try and pat me down if you'd like," Tristan snapped. Registering the look in the other man's eyes, Lancelot decided that he most definitely didn't.

They were saved from making any further conversation by the arrival of Arthur and the rest of the Samartians. All of the ex prisoners looked wired - eyes over bright, muscles tense, Lancelot thought. _But then who could blame them; stuck in cells waiting to be shot brought back memories none of them were willing to face. _It was something he'd have to talk about with his brother, he realised. Providing, of course, that there were any barracks left for them to get trapped in in the future.

Arthur walked over to the Saxon Tristan had killed and picked up the dead man's rifle. Checking it quickly, he handed it to Dagonet. _Good choice, _Lancelot thought. _Dag was by far the most level headed of them and a damn good shot as well._

"Do you know how to handle one of these?" his brother asked the big man. Dagonet nodded, his large hands taking the weapon with an ease that could only be borne of familiarity. "Good." Arthur said. "I want you at the back, you're our rear guard. I'm on point, Lancelot, Tristan, I want you both behind us. Bors, Galahad, Gawain. I want you to stay behind us." Unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the barrel of his gun, Lancelot noted the three men's resentment and fear at being led into a potential combat situation with no weapon to defend themselves. Arthur obviously had too, for his next words seemed an attempt to reassure them. "You'll all be armed as soon as it is possible. For now keep an eye out for any hostiles and keep together. "If we can get back to the main building we'll be much better informed and equipped." The building around them groaned, a crack racing up a wall sending a shower of plaster raining down on them, and when Arthur gave the word to move, Lancelot followed him as automatically as the men beside him.

………………………………...............................................................................................................

The light was gold and hazy as they burst out into the open, but quickly adjusting to the light, Arthur jogged swiftly towards the shelter of a large building that had once been used to stable horses and was now a shower block. The angle of the wall provided cover without pinning them down, and gesturing for the men to hunker down beside him, the commander surveyed the surroundings.

To the left of them a building had been reduced to rubble, the smoke thankfully swept by the wind away from the camp. Part of the barbed wire fence had been flattened, the cause fairly obvious by the tank that sat silently in the grass beside the civilian camp. A half dozen bodies littered the ground beside it, but other than the shouts of the soldiers it was fairly quiet. The battle had apparently been over almost as soon as it had begun. Arthur felt a prickle of unease. Either the Saxons had suddenly become very stupid or they were playing another game entirely. Tanks were not easy to come about, nor was fuel or the ammunition that had levelled the barracks. Why waste them by attacking without enough men to be useful once the parameter had been breached?

With a soldier's instinct, Arthur felt before he heard the man approaching. Keeping low to the ground as he made his way forward, Dagonet crouched down and levelled solemn grey eyes upon him.

"Whatever happened here, we missed it," he said quietly. "Everyone out there is clean up not combat. Tristan's checking things out from a better vantage point, but it looks like the Saxons are either dead or gone."

Arthur was inclined to believe the big ex-squaddie; his words echoed his own thoughts precisely. Opening his mouth to answer, he paused. "Tristan's at a better vantage point?"

Dagonet looked slightly uncomfortable. "He's on the roof," he replied eventually.

_The roof. Right. Of Course. _Getting to his feet, Arthur nodded at the men awaiting his instructions and gestured for them to get up.

"Drop your guns," he said quietly but firmly. Lancelot opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur shook his head. "Incase you hadn't noticed, most of the men here aren't very keen on you lot. Go out there with a weapon when the enemy aren't firing and there's fair odds you'll get shot whether your gun is pointed at them, loaded, or even being held upside down. Don't make things easy for them."

"Them?" Galahad looked at Arthur with faint hostility. "Aren't you one of _them_?"

Arthur almost laughed. The lad had been about to get shot by Saxons and have a building fall on his head, and he still had enough energy for an argument.

"_I,"_ he said calmly, "am the man in charge of getting you killed in combat. I have no intention of letting you get your brains splattered onto the barracks lawn before I've given the Saxons a fair go at you."

Gawain laughed, Galahad looked mutinous and Bors nudged a not entirely impassive Dagonet.

"Need to be a pretty good marksman to hit Galahad's brain," the burly man said with a grin.

Galahad muttered something venomous in Bors's direction, but Arthur was surprised when the young man looked at him with more amusement than anger.

"C'mon pup, you know it's true," Gawain said, his manner so easygoing that when he got to his feet and held out a hand, Galahad took it and let himself be hauled to his feet. "You might want to get Tristan off the roof, too," the stocky blond remarked to his Commander. "Leave him up there too long and he's likely to roost for the night."

"Would be more comfortable than our previous accommodations," Tristan said, sliding down the shingles and dropping lightly to the ground. Brushing his tangled hair from his eyes, he addressed Arthur with absolutely no remorse for ignoring orders. "The Saxons came in from the east," he said confidently. "Went through the fence then took out the barracks. One of your lot must have lobbed a grenade through the hatch, and those who followed were taken down quickly. Short sweet and pointless."

"You got all that from a couple of minutes reconnaissance?" Arthur phrased it as a question, but he had no doubt the older man spoke the truth.

Tristan shrugged. "Spent half my life tracking hare, fox and the like. Working out where a bloody great tank came from isn't much of a stretch. Even Bors could do it."

"Watch it," the older man grumbled without rancour. Getting to his feet he rolled his broad shoulders and looked at Arthur seriously. "Might want to listen to the psycho son of a bitch though. Saxons are messing with your boys, make no mistake about that." He studied his Commander for a moment. "Sir."

Arthur let his eyes rove over the men that he had been put in charge of. Only a couple of hours ago he'd wondered whether putting a bullet to the lot of them, Lancelot included, might have been the kindest option. Now…

"Drop it," he said to Tristan, gesturing towards his gun. The Samartian did as he was told without question, and Arthur nodded towards the rest of his strange band of men before setting out towards the dining hall. "I don't know about you lot, but I need a drink.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Nodding a greeting to the two guards who stood guarding the dining hall, Arthur led his men inside. The big building was almost empty, only a handful of soldiers were grouped around the vast expanse of empty tables. They looked up at the new arrivals but made no attempt to converse with them, and the Samartians echoed their calm indifference. A couple of pigeons cooed to each other in the rafters, but aside from that the hall was quiet.

_All the soldiers and their leaders were out either hunting the attackers or clearing up their mess, _Arthur thought with a faint smile. _Funny how they seemed to have conveniently forgotten his men when it came to security though…. _Nodding at the young girl who was hovering uncertainly by the kitchen door, he gestured for her to come over. She did so hesitantly, eyes flicking from the floor to Arthur's face and never once straying towards the Samartians who had sat themselves down on one of the benches and looked at her with interest.

"My men are thirsty," he said quietly. "Bring us a couple of jugs of lager and some glasses and we'll serve ourselves." The girl dipped her head in acknowledgement and scurried back towards the kitchen. Her pony tail bounced merrily as she moved, but it did not disguise the bruises that marred the pale flesh of her neck, and Arthur forced down his anger. Women were scarce at the fort and for those unlucky enough to have survived the virus without family, it was a dangerous place.

"That part of civilised society?" Gawain watched the serving girl walk away with narrowed eyes. "Knocking women around doesn't exactly go with taking the moral high ground your lot take your high horses on."

"You're mixing your metaphors, G", Galahad said idly. "It's either take the high ground or get off your high horse."

The blond shrugged, his eyes never leaving the door that the waitress had disappeared behind. "Either way, it doesn't make it right."

"Hear that, Arth… Sir." Lancelot said with amusement. "You've got the last true gentleman here. Don't waste him by sending him out to be shot with the rest of us - laminate him and in a couple of decades there'll be tour busses coming to take pictures."

"Fuck off, Lance," Gawain said without rancour. "Stick to chasing livestock , they're more suited to you on an intellectual level."

"Easier to catch too," Bors said with a grin.

"Boys." Dagonet gave a barely perceptible nod of his head which shut them up immediately, and looked at his new commander. "I'd say that we've got bigger problems to worry about."  
_That was one way of putting it, _Arthur though privately. _But the attack on the barracks might take the heat off his new team for the moment. Soldiers with an identifiable enemy to shoot at were much less likely to take their frustration out on their fellow men at arms, even if they were ex cons. _He phrased his words carefully.

"What happened today wasn't typical. Saxon gangs hit us hard at first here - breaching the camps and taking women. They killed civilians if they got in their way but it was mostly haphazard attacks - minimum planning, heavy losses on their side. When the camp got going they kept away; they couldn't compete with our firepower and the refugee quarters were better protected. What did you see on the outside?"

It was a bold question but none of the men sat around the table flinched. Nonetheless it took almost a moment before anyone spoke. There was an unconscious and unspoken deferral to the pack-like chain of command, and once again it was to Dagonet that the Samartians looked to.

The big man rubbed a course hand over chapped lips and looked at Arthur with thoughtful grey eyes. When he spoke it was with neither deference nor contempt.

"What did we see?" He gave an almost kindly half smile. "If you want the full on Charles Dickens life story from us all I can't speak for anyone else but myself. As for prison and after…" He glanced at Bors. "Put a prison on lockdown with a quarter of the inmates dead or decomposing, a handful of guards who have no control of the situation and add in a biker group who bust into the place like HellsAngels with the emphasis on the "hell" prefix. What do you think happened?"

"The Saxons actually breached the prison security and set everyone free?" The idea didn't fit with what he'd been told about the destruction of Samartia prison, but Arthur saw no evidence of dishonesty in the big ex-prisoner's demeanour. "And the guards?"

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably on the bench opposite him, his long fingers tracing the grain of the wooden table.

"Might want to skip to the end there, bruv… Sir," he said quietly. "They all died, put it that way."

"And the Saxons just let you all go?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"'course they didn't," Bors snarled. Half rising to his feet, he rounded on his new Commander and fixed him with narrow brown eyes. "We were supposed to follow them and the poodle permed nutcase with verbal diarrhoea that leads 'em. Get shot by that lot or by yours - what's the difference? When you're stuck in a cell with a gun at your head politics tends to go out the window."

"Bors.." Gawain warned quietly.

"Oh fuck off Gawain," Bors snapped, shaking off Dagonet's hand when his cousin put a quelling hand on his shoulder. "I didn't see you going all Mr Ideology after what they did to your cell mate."

It was only Galahad's swift intervention that stopped Gawain vaulting the table and attacking Bors. Breathing heavily the blond sat down and glared at the older man.

"Enough," Tristan said quietly. "This solves nothing." Resting his forearms on the table he turned towards Arthur as though he were discussing something as trivial a local football match. "After the virus really got hold most of the guards left. Food got short, bodies weren't removed… There were riots, but nothing drastic - the whole prison was on lockdown. Maybe eighteen Saxons used a rocket launcher to get through the main wall and into the building. Slaughtered the guards, gave everyone else a "join us or die" speech. Most people picked the first option."

"Including you."  
Tristan didn't seem to take offence at the statement. "Me. Them." He nodded to the rest of the men seated at the table. "The Saxons were pretty creative when it came to killing, don't reckon any of your soldiers would have done any different."

"Probably not," Arthur tried to imagine what the seemingly emotionless northerner would deem as "creative killing", and decided that he didn't want to know. "But they let you leave?"  
Galahad gave a snort of laughter. "Not hardly. How many did you kill, Tris? Six, eight?" He met Arthur's gaze without fear - brown eyes shadowed in his youthful face. "There were twelve of us originally, we're what's left and you're lucky to get this many of us. The Saxons aren't shy when it comes to killing."

"And you came here." It was a statement rather than a question, and so no-one answered Arthur. He had the feeling that he'd pushed the men enough for the moment anyway. The return of the serving girl saved him from making any further attempt at conversation, and he nodded his thanks when she placed two big jugs of lager in the middle of the table. The placement of glasses didn't go quite as smoothly; she fumbled a couple of them and almost tipped a river of ale over Bors when a couple of the men at the other side of the dining hall shouted for service. Watching the girl who couldn't be much older than seventeen, flinch in anticipation of a blow, Arthur made a mental note to try and relocate her. As a high ranking officer he could have claimed droit de seigneur and made discrete arrangements to have her moved to his quarters; such practices were frowned upon in public but went on quite happily amongst some of the higher echelons of the military, but he found the idea repellent. Given that he was now in charge of six men who would need new uniforms, and since their barracks were now rubble and needed everything from bedding to curtains, he might be able to appropriate her as a maid…

Lancelot's chuckle broke his brother's musings.

"I know that look." Lancelot's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "If the girl's going to be your newest " help the poor and oppressed" project I want it on record that I saw her first."

"I think Gawain called it actually," Galahad said without much interest. "Not that I'd wish either of you on her."

"Better us than them," Gawain retorted, watching as a soldier tried and failed to grope the serving girl. "Why's she out on her own here? Don't they have supervisors?"

"Most of 'em are dead Gawain," Bors said. "When you've got people chopping what's left of the general population into little pieces the whole sexual harassment thing takes a bit of a back seat I reckon." Narrowing his small brown eyes, he watched as the girl was pulled onto the lap of one of the soldiers, her skinny arms trapped as she struggled to break free. "Not to say that I like it. If Van was here she'd…" Shutting up swiftly he downed half his drink in two swallows and looked back at the girl who was looking increasingly distressed.

Recognising the tension within his men and increasingly concerned for the girl, Arthur got to his feet and attempted to diffuse the situation before it escalated into violence.

"Stay here," he said abruptly. "Dagonet, as of now you're second in command." Galahad and Bors looked surprised, Lancelot slightly hurt, but the Commander didn't flinch. The men he was in charge of seemed decent enough but they were still unknown quantities and quick to anger. Trusting any of them, Lancelot included, was a risk, but Dagonet seemed to be the most level headed from what he had seen. The fact that he was big enough to subdue most of the others without too much trouble was an added bonus.

Walking swiftly over to the far side of the dining hall, Arthur quickly evaluated the situation. The serving girl was squashed between two of the men. Head turned away, hands beating ineffectually at the men groping her, she had no chance of escaping. Their superior officer was laughing, obviously half drunk, his second in command looking torn between faking amusement and genuine disgust at what was happening. Without bothering with conversation, Arthur grabbed the nearest soldier, punched him and pulled the girl off the bench.

"Would you like to explain this, Sergeant Racine?" he said icily, fixing the highest ranking man with a wintry glare. "Given that your colleagues are outside patching up the damage caused by a Saxon attack not half an hour ago I find it somewhat surprising that you have time to molest the serving staff. The smile vanished from the sergeant's face within the space of a heartbeat.

"We were just messing around, weren't we lads?" He looked around at his suddenly silent men. "No harm done, right?"

"Nothing of any use done at all," Arthur, said firmly. "If you're that desperate for something to do I suggest that you go outside and help with the clean-up. The parameter fence needs fixing, you'll find wire and tools in the shed by the showers."

The younger man opened his mouth as though to protest, but ingrained deference to the Commander's higher rank overruled any objections. Getting to his feet sullenly, he nodded to his men and left the building without another word.

Resisting the urge to sigh in irritation, Arthur looked at the girl who hadn't moved since he'd dragged her from her molesters. The small bones of her wrist trembled beneath his fingers and he relaxed his grip a little and gave her a quick look over. No injuries that he could see. Her eyes were huge and scared, watching him with the panicky wariness of a cornered animal.

"What's your name?" Arhur asked quietly, letting go of her arm. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl looked at him with a strange mixture of fear, distrust and hope before giving a half smile so brief it might have been an illusion.

"Alice," she said quietly. "Alice Tremain."

"Well Alice Tremain, how would you like a change in employment?" Nodding towards the table where the Samartians sat quietly but without bothering to disguise their interest in the conversation, Arthur almost laughed when her eyes went almost comically wide. "We need a maid - sewing, house keeping, that sort of thing. In return you'll get a room of your own, your food and no-one gets to lay a hand on you unless you say so."

"Even them?" She asked doubtfully, running her eyes over the admittedly intimidating group of ex-cons.

"Especially them," Arthur said firmly. "Give it a week and see how you get on. If after that time you want to come back here then you'll be free to do so."

She seemed to consider the idea, her eyes narrowing, bottom lip almost disappearing as she chewed it thoughtfully, before giving a swift nod.

"Alright." Flashing a smile that lit up her face, she squared her shoulders. "I'll give it a go."

"Good." Gesturing for the girl to follow, Arthur returned to his men, wondering not for the first time how exactly he was going to explain any of the day's events to General Germanius.

**A/N thanks to all who read and or reviewed the last chapter :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Alice followed the big commander with a calmness that belied the churning panic that tightened her stomach. _Pack it in,_ she told her heart which was hammering so hard that she thought it might break free of her rib cage. _You might have a chance here, don't mess it up. _She knew of Commander Castus - there were few at "The Wall" who didn't, and his reputation painted him as a fair man who was loyal to his troops and did not take advantage of his position. Certainly she'd never heard tell of him ordering any of her fellow serving girls to his bed the way some of his fellow officers had. But the men he commanded…. They were a different prospect entirely.

"Gentlemen." Arthur did not bother to raise his voice when he addressed his men; they all shut up as soon as he approached. "This is Alice Tremain. She will be in charge of sorting out your accommodation and uniforms. You will go to her for help regarding those concerns and those concerns only. You will treat her with respect, and if I hear evidence to the contrary those responsible can go back to the Saxons for there will be no place for them here." Gesturing towards the dark haired girl, he motioned for her to sit down. "Now, since the barracks have had the shit bombed out of them and I don't imagine you lot'd like to spend the night camping out, I've got work to do. Stay here and keep out of trouble." Nodding to Dagonet, Arthur stifled a smile as the older man barely dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Dagonet is in charge, any trouble then I'll be in building two." With that he left, marching across the mess room with unconscious military precision before bounding up the stairs and out of sight.

"It's alright love." The voice was gruff but kind, and Alice pulled her attention away from the retreating form of Commander Castus and looked at the man sat across the table from her. The man looked to be in his mid forties with a stocky build and little brown eyes that crinkled kindly when he smiled at her. With a sudden unexpected sharp pain, Alice was reminded of her father. "You'll be safe with us." Reaching over, he took her hand, his large fingers rough and strangely reassuring.

Resisting the sudden urge to cry - _how long had it been since someone had touched her with kindness? _Alice quickly squeezed the man's hand before withdrawing it. Mentally shoving her emotions into some semblance of order, she gave a decent approximation of a smile.

"Since you all know my name, could I trouble you gentlemen for yours?"

The stocky man gave a chuckle, and Alice found herself smiling at such genuine good humour.

"Right love, let's see. I'm Bors, this big lug is Dagonet," he nudged the tall, solemn man next to him with his shoulder. "Pretty boy there is Lancelot, and the two next to him are Galahad and Gawain. The scary bastard on the end is Tristan." Alice watched where Bors's stubby finger pointed, mentally acknowledging that yes, Lancelot was a "pretty boy" if not the happiest looking one. Galahad looked not much older than her, the prison tattoo on the back of his neck a strange contrast to his boyish features. Gawain smiled at her and she could not help smiling back. She knew better than to judge by appearances, but there was a kindness in the blond man's blue eyes that she could not help warming to. Tristan on the other hand… He didn't do or say anything, but the quiet intensity of the man made her repress a shudder. That one would bear watching.

"So what's your story Alice?" Galahad asked, leaning forward in interest. "You know where we came from," he prodded the tattoo on Gawain's neck and didn't flinch when the older man batted his hand away. "How did you end up in this garden of heathen?"

"Eden," Gawain corrected. "Although as Freudian slips go that's pretty accurate."

Galahad ignored the interruption. "You from around here originally?"

A little overwhelmed, Alice paused before replying. The men in front of her were not at all what she had expected. Samartians were synonymous with Saxons, and Saxons were synonymous with murder, rape and destruction. The six men sat around the table, while not cute and cuddly by any means were at least recognisably human, and almost likable at that. Noting that the pitchers in the centre of the table were empty, Alice took the opportunity for a couple of minute's breathing space.

"I'll just go and get us some re-fills shall I?" she said, gathering the empty jugs with practiced ease. "Talking's thirsty work isn't it?" Before anyone had a chance to reply to her, admittedly rhetorical, question, she'd slid off the bench and was halfway to the kitchen, the pitchers clinking gently as she walked away.

Kate grabbed her almost as soon as she had shouldered her way through the door.

"Alice? Are you alright?" Her blue eyes were wide, making her look even younger than her twenty two years. "Did they hurt you? Because if they did…"

"You'd stab them with a kitchen knife?" Alice asked ruefully. "I don't remember that going down too well the last time you tried it."

"Yes, well…" Kate took two of the empty jugs from her friend and put them in the sink. "I got my point across anyway."

"Point?" Alice gave her friend a sideways glance. "Did you just make a joke miss mess-with-me-and-regret-it-forever?"

The older girl wrinkled her nose and grabbed a sponge, scrubbing the sides of the pitcher as though the fate of the world depended on it. "Shut up Alice," she said without amusement. "I saw what happened, and yeah, Castus is an alright bloke by all accounts, but that doesn't mean it's safe to go hobnobbing around with Samartians. You've got to be more careful, girl."

"It wasn't Samartians holding me down and trying to get my bra off," Alice pointed out. The simmering anger at being manhandled by the soldiers was starting to surface, and she did her best to squash it down. It wasn't the first time it had happened and it probably wouldn't be the last. At least she had it better than the poor cows who were encouraged by some of the senior officers to provide "special favours" or God forbid the few refugees who, alone and starving, were willing to spread their legs for whoever could make their lives a little more bearable. "They seemed alright, the Samartians. Not what I expected."

Kate gave a "hurrumph" of annoyance. Rubbing the back of her hand over her damp hair, she was unaware of the small pile of soap bubbles that clung to its damp blonde strands. "Well, just watch yourself, that's all I'm saying. Keep your distance."

"Can't really." Alice picked up two clean pitchers from the sideboard and deliberately turned her back on her friend. "As of now I'm their maid."

Turning the tap on the barrel, Alice watched the jug fill with lager, swapping the jugs over as soon as the first was filled. When the second was full, she rose and carefully set them on the table in the middle of the kitchen. Kate stood with her arms crossed over her breasts, her eyes narrowed.

"Look it's not like that," Alice protested at the unspoken accusation. "I'll be doing cleaning, sewing, that sort of thing. It's better than staying here and being groped by half the barracks. I told Castus that I'd give it a go."

"And what happens when he or his men decide to give _you_ "a go"", Kate snapped. "They're bloody Samartians Alice. Do you really think Castus is going to give a toss if his men decide to have a bit of fun with you?"

"I don't know, Kate, Germanius doesn't seem to mind when he passes you off to _his _men. You tell me." The words were out before she could stop them, and for a moment they seemed to hang in the space between the two women, poisonous and irreversible. The blonde girl carefully wiped the jug she had been cleaning dry and put it on the shelf with studied calmness.

"Kate, look, I didn't mean…" Panic at saying out loud something that was only hinted at in the tavern, made Alice's apology clumsy. "I'm sorry…"

"It's alright." The tired resignation in Kate's eyes echoed that statement and suddenly Alice felt a thousand times worse. "Might as well get it out in the open, I'm a bit tired of all the rumours to be honest. Yeah, I'm Germanius's whore. Not something that I'm proud of, and it's not something that I'd recommend, Alice. So be careful who you trust alright and don't let yourself end up as some weird perk of the job for a bunch of soldiers who don't have anything else to let their frustrations out on." Walking over to the younger girl, Kate dropped a kiss on her forehead before ascending the stairs to the meeting rooms. Alice listened as her footsteps receded, the memory of the kiss burning like a brand on her skin. _I won't let that happen to me, and I'll help you Kate,_ Alice vowed, gathering up the pitchers of lager and putting them on a tray along with a loaf of bread and a pat of butter. She picked up a bread knife, ran a thumb over its serrated edge and tried not to cry as she carved the loaf into manageable pieces.

* * *

"I should congratulate you Arthur." General Germanius leant back in his chair and regarded his Commander with amusement. "It's been what," he made a show of looking at his watch. "Four hours and your boys haven't killed anyone yet." Waiting until the younger man shifted in his chair as though to protest, he cut him off before he could speak. "Oh wait, that's not entirely true is it? There are three Saxon corpses who'd say otherwise."

_Corpses can't say anything because they're fucking dead, you moron, _Arthur thought to himself. _And why the hell did you bring the Samartians here if not to kill Saxons?_

"I and my men eliminated the threat as per orders, Sir," he said quietly. "The Samartians followed orders well and without losing control, which is more than I can say for the poor bastards out there who thought that charging a tank was a good idea."

"Yes, well…" Irritation narrowed Germanius's eyes so that they looked to Arthur like nothing more than chips of flint. "Obviously that was a regrettable situation, but since Officer Barnet was inconsiderate enough to get his head blown off, giving him a posthumous bollocking seems a bit _de trop, _don't you think?"

Arthur curled his fingers around the underside of his chair and concentrated on staying calm.

"My men need new quarters, Sir," he said quietly. "And given their performance today they should be issued with weapons."

Germanius laughed incredulously. "You think that we should give half a dozen violent criminals guns and ammunition while they are here at camp, amongst decent people?"

"I think that my men should be armed," Arthur said. His hazel eyes darkened, his gaze was unflinching, and for the first time Germanius felt a flicker of what might have been fear. "Unlike half the pathetic excuses for soldiers here, my men didn't fall apart at the first sign of trouble. I'm merely asking you to arm the men that you recruited when they came to offer themselves of their own free will."

"Jesus, Castus, what are you trying to do? Set yourself up for the Nobel Peace Prize? Because you don't need me to tell you that the selection panel are dead, right?" The General propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together. "Give that sorry lot live ammunition and God knows what will happen. But.." with a sigh as though he were granting an enormous favour, he continued. "On your head be it. Tomorrow I want you to take your boys down to Dene forest. Some of the latest refugees have been telling stories about a group of men living in the woods and killing Saxons. Some ancient hippy by the name of Merlin is supposed to be leading them. Probably nothing to it, but if they do exist then I want them brought back here. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Arthur replied. As a first assignment with his men it wasn't too bad, he thought with relief. Certainly better than being shoved out into the certain combat situation he had been expecting. Most of his men might even live to see the next month. "Given that their barracks were destroyed , my men need new quarters, Sir. Where would you prefer I station them?"

The general thought for a moment. "Put them in block nine. Kubrick shipped his men off to Liverpool yesterday, the place is empty. You'll need to get a maid to sort things out first though ; they took the bedding with them."

Arthur did his best not to shift uncomfortably. "Actually I have a maid, Sir. One of the kitchen girls has agreed to take on the duty."

Germanius went very still for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Kate?"

"No, Sir." A little nonplussed at the unfamiliar name, Arthur noted the way the General's knuckles had whitened where he clutched the table edge. "Alice Tremain."

The older man seemed to relax a little. Leaning back in his chair he gave Castus an appraising look that made Arthur's skin crawl. "Dark hair, nice tits?" His smile was almost reptilian. "Never knew you had it in you lad." Shrugging, he got to his feet. "She's yours if you want her. Tell Jols to report to the armoury - Burgess'll set your boys up with weapons, but for Christ's sake keep an eye on them. The last thing this place needs is the lunatics taking over the asylum. Now if you'll excuse me.."

Arthur took the hint. With a polite nod, he exited the General's office and headed back to his men, feeling weary and somehow tainted. The sight of the Samartians sat around the table chatting amiably lifted his spirits somewhat. There were no visible dead bodies near them and the mess hall was still in one piece which was somewhat reassuring. Apparently they were capable of behaving themselves when left unsupervised. The serving girl - _Alice_, he remembered got to her feet and poured a glass of lager as soon as she saw him approach, and Arthur took it feeling slightly guilty. There was an almost puppyish desire to please in her deference towards him, and he wondered just how bad things had been for her. Draining half the glass in three long swallows, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and met Lancelot's knowing dark eyes.

"Boss been giving you a hard time?" he said with pretend innocence. "Sir."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and gave his brother a look that had been shorthand for _shut-up-before-I-deck-you_ when they were younger.

"Right then," he said regaining his customary authority. " As of now, you lot are going to be based in block nine. For those who don't know where it is, it's the building next to the old stable block. Alice," he turned his attention to the dark haired girl. "The rooms need cleaning and new bedding - can you arrange that?" She nodded and got to her feet, flashing him a smile before hurrying off. Arthur caught Gawain's expression as Alice departed and inwardly rolled his eyes. Trust him to get landed with a Samartian convict who looked more likely to write serving girls poetry than rip the heads off Saxons.

"As for the rest of you, you'll be happy to know that the General has given me permission to issue you with weapons." Putting his hand up to halt the sudden chatter, Arthur continued. "I would appreciate it if you reward my trust by behaving responsibly. That means no shooting anyone no matter what the provocation unless I order you to do so. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Lancelot gave his brother a butter wouldn't melt look of innocence which made Arthur decidedly uneasy. One by one the rest of the men nodded their acquiescence, and the Commander felt some of the tension leave him. Finishing his drink, he debated whether to share his orders with the men, before deciding that keeping secrets was probably not the best course of action when it came to winning his troops' trust.

"Tomorrow we have our first assignment, " Arthur said quietly, slightly reassured by the fact that the Samartians immediately shut up and listened to him.

"We're to head out to Dene forest. Apparently some vigilantes have been taking down Saxons. If the whole thing doesn't turn out to be a wild goose chase then we're to bring them in. Alive," he added almost as an afterthought. Expecting a flurry of questions, Arthur was a little surprised when the men kept quiet, glancing at each other in a way that could only be described as "shifty".

Lancelot broke the silence first.

"You want us to go after Merlin." It wasn't a question, and Arthur frowned at his usually devil-may-care brother's worried tone.

"That's right. Do you know the man?"

Lancelot looked over at Galahad who suddenly seemed to be fascinated by the table top. In the end Tristan spoke up. "None of us have seen him, only what he's done. Merlin and his men took out a dozen Saxon scouts and put their heads on sticks as a warning when they got to close to his forest. He doesn't welcome visitors."

Tristan's voice was calm, but Arthur noted the warning in his eyes and stifled a sigh. _So much for a nice easy first mission. _Reaching over, he poured himself another glass of lager - he had the feeling he'd better make the most of the quiet before having to think about what tomorrow would bring.

**A/N: Quiet chapter, but I wanted to give a bit of insight as to what things were like for the unattached women in the barracks. Sorry for the delay in updating, I've had total writers block. Cheers to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter (thanks Rachel, Mads and D'Arcy, non FFnet reviewing people - much appreciated).**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

It was almost dark when Arthur accompanied his men to their quarters. They had eaten a filling if not particularly tasty dinner, and shared a few more pitchers of ale, but tomorrow's mission had cast a shadow over their previous good spirits, and as the dining hall filled up and the soldiers became more boisterous, the commander thought it best to beat a strategic retreat. The night was clear and cold, and taking a deep lungful of the clean air, Arthur watched his breath curl and fade like dragon's smoke.

"Clear up went alright," Bors remarked from behind him, and Castus nodded. The ruined tank still sat on the open grass, but the fence had been mended, and aside from a few muddy trenches ploughed by the vehicle's wheels, there was nothing to show that a bloody battle had been fought there only a few hours ago.

Hesitating for a moment, Arthur decided to take his men to the armoury before settling them in their quarters. To allow them to keep their weapons with them overnight was a mark of trust, and might provide some reassurance for the displaced men. _Of course it could also get a lot of people shot, you included, if you've read them wrong, _a little voice whispered in his head. Ignoring it; it was too late for doubts now, he started walking, reassured when his men fell into line behind him. The armoury was not Castus's favourite place in the world. An underground concrete bunker, it was safe enough from attack, but it was also cold, damp and run by a man who was quite obviously as mad as a bag of hammers. Nodding to the two guards who were stationed at the top of the steps, Arthur descended the stairs and opened the reinforced steel door at the bottom, blinking as the halogen light blinded him for a moment.

"Jesus," he heard Galahad mutter, obviously stumbling into Gawain from the faint grunt the blond man emitted. Gesturing for his squinting men to line up beside him, their Commander waited for his eyes to adjust to the light and looked around. The big room's low ceilings were striped with enough lights to make the place almost surgically bright. Below them lined up according to size, make and firepower, rows and rows of firearms shone sleek and deadly. Hundreds of silent muzzles waiting to be picked up and allowed to roar.

"Woah." Galahad's eyes were almost comically wide. "It's like pick n' mix for psycho bastards."

"I think Tristan'd call it porn actually," Lancelot said with a smirk. Arthur glanced over and noted with a sinking feeling that indeed, the northerner was studying the weapons with an expression that could only be described as predatory. _How many had he killed up at that Scottish estate? Two? Three?_ He was saved having to remember by the arrival of Sgt. Burgess. As usual the stocky middle aged man had taken no notice of protocol and was dressed in a Metallica t-shirt sporting a large hole under the armpit and a battered baseball cap proclaiming his allegiance to Manchester United football club. As a half hearted attempt at keeping to uniform regulations, he sported camouflage pants, liberally splattered with what at first looked like blood, but on closer inspection turned out to be tomato sauce.

"Castus!" Burgess's face cracked into a smile that made him look much younger than his fifty five years. "Where have you been you sorry old bastard? Bout time someone came down here that knows a Berretta from their bunghole. Some of the kids they've got in charge… Jesus." He shook his head sorrowfully.

Torn between laughter, embarrassment and exasperation, Arthur couldn't help a chuckle when he looked at his men, all of whom were gazing at the armoury expert with total disbelief.

"Burgess, this is my new team - they need kitting out, reckon you can sort it?"

The older man gave a snort and flashed the Commander a wounded look. "What do you reckon?" he snapped irritably. "Lets have a look at them." He ran shrewd eyes over Gawain and Galahad, reaching out to poke the younger man's arm with a calloused finger. Ignoring Galahad's surprised "hey!" Burgess glanced at Arthur. "Bit scrawny this one isn't he? You want him to carry anything heavier than a slingshot then he'd better build up a bit of muscle."

"Galahad," Arthur said quietly but firmly, interrupting the youngest member of his team's outraged protests. "Let the man do his job."

"Army boys?" Burgess said approvingly , noting the insignias tattooed on Dagoenet and Bors' forearms. "You two I can work with." Moving to the end of the line he met Tristan's expressionless eyes and entered into what looked to be a staring contest for several seconds. Abruptly stepping back, Burgess gave a loud bark of a laugh and slapped Tristan on the rump. "Cheer up, you miserable bastard," he said jovially. "Be glad you've got Castus in charge and not one of the other wankers."

For a moment Arthur was aware of all their men holding their breath, Lancelot in particular looking almost gleeful to see what Tristan's reaction would be. If they had expected him to attack however, they were to be disappointed; the northerner's face remained impassive, although for a moment Arthur could have sworn he saw his mouth twitch in a tiny smile.

"Rifle's and colts?" Burgess asked Arthur, already turning away before he could answer. Striding down one of the isles he picked up two solid AK-47s and gave them a cursory once over before handing one each to Bors and Dagonet. Two handguns were quickly snagged from a wall display and handed over as well. "Watch out for the recoil on her," Burgess told Dagonet distractedly, already sizing up Gawain, Galahad and Lancelot. Disappearing around a corner, he returned with three long barrelled rifles, sleeker and lighter than the weapons he had given the others. "Winchester .250's" he said lovingly. "Automatic scope, can't go wrong with these sweethearts." Pausing to hand out three compact but powerful colts, the gunsmith wandered over to Tristan. Narrowing his eyes, he rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "You'll be wanting a sniper's rifle."

Arthur frowned. "He has no military experience, Burgess," he protested. "Kelly was a gameskeeper before.."

The older man ignored his superior officer. "You used to picking off deer, rabbit and the like from a distance?" Tristan nodded but didn't elaborate further. "See," Burgess said, "sniper. He's got the look, no mistaking it." Striding down to the end of the room, he unlocked a large case and withdrew a rifle out with something akin to reverence. "Remington Model Seven Predator," he said softly holding the sleek weapon out to the Samartian. "Can shoot a pimple off a Saxon's arse at five hundred yards." Tristan took it and exchanged the briefest of smiles with the older man as he tested its weight.

"Right." Burgess rubbed his hands together, a smile of immense satisfaction on his face. "Now we'll just kit you out with ammo and bowie knives and you'll all be ready to go out and get yourselves killed by the stupid bastards that run this place." With a chuckle, the gunsmith wandered over to Arthur and clapped him on the shoulder. "I haven't had this much fun in weeks."

* * *

"I don't reckon its right, that nutter being in charge of all those guns." Galahad stretched and tried to get comfortable on the understuffed chair he had chosen. "Surprised he hasn't blown himself up already."

Gawain shrugged. Pacing across the tatty space that was optimistically termed the recreation room, he twitched a dishcloth grey curtain aside and peered out the window. Seeing nothing but darkness and his own smeary reflection, he turned away and leant against the wall.

"Looked like he knew what he was doing," he said with a yawn. "Thought well of Castus too."

"Hmm." Galahad wrinkled his nose. "Not sure if that's a good thing or not. Birds of a feather and all that.."

"Arthur seems alright." Wandering over to the couch, Gawain flopped down onto it, wincing as several springs squealed in protest. "Knows better than to pat Tristan on the arse anyway."

"Ah, that was _beautiful," _Galahad said dreamily. "Can't believe our own dear psycho just took it like that."

"Knew he wouldn't be armed if he killed the bloke," Gawain said wisely. "Tris'll put up with a lot if it means he gets something shiny and lethal to play with."

"And now we have our own toys too." Galahad shifted, feeling the solid weight of the pistol at his side.

"Not toys," Gawain said sharply, "and this isn't a game. Please tell me you've got the safety on on that thing. If you blow your balls off I'm not mopping up afterwards."

Galahad opened his mouth to retort, but paused and chuckled instead. "I'm not sixteen G, you don't have to play father figure anymore. We were business partners remember, up until…" His voice trailed off.

"Until I got us ten years for human trafficking." Gawain finished. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his forehead wearily. "Not exactly a great father figure."

"Hey!" Galahad kicked the table, making his friend look up in surprise. "Don't say that you miserable bastard. Where do you think I'd have ended up without you? Juvie for starters, or foster home number ninety nine. Wasn't your fault Wilkes was a scheming, twisted lowlife. I believed him too remember; I could have checked that truck but I didn't, so don't go blaming yourself for something that's as much my fault as yours."

Gawain studied the younger man with mild surprise. Galahad's eyes were flashing, his body almost trembling with indignation, and the rush of affection for his surrogate brother was sudden and unexpected in its intensity.

"You're kind of cute when you're angry," He said, trying to lighten the mood.

Galahad scowled. "Fuck off nancy boy, I'm armed remember?"

Leaning back against the sofa, Gawain smiled knowingly. "Well I hope you've got a better aim with a gun than you do at darts. Remember that time you knocked that man's toupee off?"

"Happy days," Galahad gave a soft laugh. "Anyway, you can see for yourself tomorrow. Practice then off to see the wizard. Happy, happy, joy, joy."

"He's not a wizard," Gawain grumbled. "Just a hippie who likes carving up Saxons. And don't be too blasé about this; he's dangerous - keep your guard up."

"Yeah, well last time I looked I wasn't a Saxon. He'll probably just end up chatting with Arthur about ley lines or make him a dream catcher or something. We probably won't even find him anyway - Dene forest's massive, and if he wanted to join this lot then he would have done it before wouldn't he?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Gawain got to his feet and stretched, hearing his shoulder joints crack with satisfaction. "But you know what's out there - no getting cocky and dropping your guard, ok?"

"Aye sir." Galahad gave a sloppy salute, and struggling out of the sagging chair, headed towards the door. "I'm going to get some kip, Arthur looks the type to drag us out of bed at half past dawn."

Gawain nodded in agreement and turned out the light. Heading towards their rooms both men stripped off their combats and slid between clean if threadbare sheets, but it was a long time before either of them got any sleep.

* * *

Arthur leant his head against the side of the wall and relished the warmth of the sunshine that reflected off the brickwork and warmed his skin. For once the British weather had decided to buck the clichés and gift the country with a warm June day. Not that everyone had appreciated it of course. Bors, Lancelot and Galahad's sweaty shirts were draped over the railings at the side of the shooting range, and bare chested they lolled on the grass, still a little red faced and panting from the assault course they had just finished. The other men who had gone first and had more time to recover, joked amiably amongst themselves and munched on sandwiches that Alice was handing out.

_They hadn't done badly at all,_ Arthur thought to himself with a mixture of relief and pride. While some of them were fitter than others, all the men were in decent enough shape, and none had disgraced themselves on the shooting range. Gawain and Galahad were the least experienced and could do with some more training, but they seemed quick learners and fairly confident. For Bors, Dagonet and Lancelot it seemed more of a case of remembering old skills and becoming used to their new weapons, but Tristan… He had been something else entirely. Glancing over at the lean northerner, Arthur watched as he steadily munched his way through two rounds of sandwiches without any sign of enjoyment, his posture alert and watchful as he scanned the camp. His rifle lay upon his knees and Castus almost shivered when he remembered the volley of shots that had obliterated the bullseye of the target with seemingly no real effort on his part. _A sniper, Burgess had said, and as usual it looked as though the old bugger was right. Good news for his team, but a boon he would have to be careful to keep quiet if he didn't want Tristan parcelled off to one of the more elite squads._

"Sir? Would you like some more?" Alice had padded up to him almost soundlessly and now stood smiling nervously, a roll wrapped in greaseproof paper held out for him to take. "The bread's fresh this morning."

"Thank-you." Arthur took it from her and suppressed a smile when her cheeks flushed pink. "Let me guess - SPAM?"

She giggled and dropped her eyes to the ground. "Yes, sorry. But it's tuna tomorrow, and there's a supply truck due the day after tomorrow, so you never know…" she said a little more brightly.

"Not a good time to be a vegetarian," Arthur remarked, taking a big bite of fluffy white bread and alarmingly pink processed meat. "We got any of them at camp?"

"Mrs Donnelly - the Colonel's wife. She won't eat meat, so I er.." She kicked the grass uncomfortably.

"Yes?" Arthur said raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"I gave her SPAM and told her it was tofu," Alice finally admitted. "Pink tofu."

Arthur chuckled, hastily swallowing so as not to spit crumbs everywhere. " I think we'd better keep that between us."

"Thank you sir," she said with a smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Not at the moment, Alice. My men will be out of camp until nightfall providing all goes as planned. I would prefer it if you could arrange their meals to be taken in their quarters."

"Yes sir." Alice nodded and scuttled off, pausing to collect the small pile of cups and water jugs that had been discarded as she did so.

The rumbling of an engine caught Arthur's attention, and looking around he watched as a large convoy vehicle, sturdy and covered in sludgy green coloured tarpaulin, rolled over towards him. Finishing his sandwich quickly, he got up and walked over to the short blond man who jumped down from the cab.

"Commander Castus, Sir." The round ruddy face crinkled into a smile and it's owner gave a salute that couldn't be construed as anything but sarcastic. "Your carriage awaits."

"Sunny!" Arthur smiled with genuine warmth, clasping the other man's forearm in greeting. He hadn't seen his former schoolmate for well over a year. "I thought you were in Portsmouth."

Lieutenant Simon Alba, known as "Sunny" to his friends because of his golden hair and permanent smile, dropped his eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, well, I was. Trouble is, Portsmouth isn't there anymore, not the barracks anyway."

"Saxons?" Arthur asked uneasily.

Sunny shrugged. "Well either them or the seagulls have started shitting out dynamite. I was out doing recon with a couple of guys, we heard the explosion ten miles away. When we got back, the whole place was flattened - everyone dead, and not just from the blast either. A couple of poor bastards were strung up as decorations if you catch my drift."

Arthur did, and didn't press for further elaboration. "When was this? We've heard nothing about it up here."

Glancing around as though worried about being overheard, Sunny gave a disgusted snort. "Don't want to panic the troops I reckon. I was told to keep my mouth shut on pain of blahdy blah, whatever."

"And that lasted how long?" Arthur asked with a rueful smile.

"You're a mate, you don't count," the blond man countered. "Reckon you'd rather have it straight. Portsmouth fell two weeks ago, but I don't reckon that's all. We weren't getting any signal from Southampton the day before - that's part of the reason me and the guys were scouting around."

"Shit," Arthur said with quiet vehemence.

"Yeah, well it might be nothing; some technical glitch or something, but…"

The two men exchanged rueful glances. If it were something that benign they'd be extremely lucky, and luck was in short supply since the Txzero virus.

"So, anyway, apparently I'm supposed to take you and your band of merry men off to a party in the woods. Got your picnic baskets ready?"

Arthur gave his friend a quelling look. Much as Sunny's flippant attitude made him laugh, it also occasionally made him want to strangle the man.

"We're trying to engage contact with a civilian group in Dene forest. They've proven to be pretty handy when it comes to taking out Saxons. Germanius wants them brought in - preferably peaceably."

Sunny snorted. "What Germanius wants is a kick up the arse. They your boys?" he asked, nodding towards the Samartians.

"Yup, got them yesterday. Green but a lot of potential. They're ex Samartian cons - came in willingly, want to fight ."

"Jesus, Castus." The blond man's eyes widened. "You must have seriously pissed off Germanius if he's dumped Samartians on you. What did you do?"

Arthur shrugged. "Probably didn't lick his arse enough. Doesn't matter, they're here now and seem like decent men, give them a chance."

"A chance to knife me in my sleep," Sunny muttered distrustfully. Suddenly doing a double take, he squinted against the sunlight. "That's not…"

"Lancelot," Arthur said heavily. "Yeah, came in with the rest of them."

"Shit." Sunny shook his head sorrowfully. "Someone up there really doesn't like you, mate."

"Yeah." Straightening his shoulders, he shot his friend a warning look. "It's not so bad really. He's changed. And from now on I'm Commander, Lieutenant. I've got enough trouble as it is without you undermining my authority."

"Yes Sir, certainly Sir." Sunny gave a snappy salute and followed Arthur over to the other men, the tight lines of worry bracketing his eyes visible only to those who knew him well enough to look past the smile.

* * *

"Jesus," Bors grumbled. "My arse has got bruises on its bruises." Bounced off his seat when the truck hit a pot hole, he cast a sympathetic look at Dagonet whose head collided with the ceiling with an audible "thump".

"Anyone remember tarmac?" Gawain said wistfully. "Motorways?" The truck juddered wildly as the tires spun on loose gravel before lurching forwards and almost sending Lancelot tumbling out the open back. Tristan shot out a hand and grabbed the younger man before he could fall, seemingly unbothered by the shuddering vehicle that looked likely to disintegrate around them at any moment.

"Welcome to the countryside, Boys!" Sunny called from the front, obviously vastly amused by the Samartians' discomfort. "Can't you just smell that fresh air?"

"Can't you stab him a few times Tris?" Lancelot muttered. "See how he'd like a few extra air holes?"

Tristan's mouth twitched but he didn't reply. Infact he hadn't said a word since the vehicle had turned onto the dirt track that led to the heart of Dene forest; a silence that Galahad had taken as a challenge before the swaying of the truck gave him a bad enough case of travel sickness to keep his mouth shut.

"Remember your orders." Arthur craned his head around the side of the seat at the front of the cab. We stay together and do our best to appear non threatening." Taking in the six imposing and heavily armed men, he rather wondered at the likelihood of achieving _that_ particular objective, but doggedly continued. "We are here to communicate with these people, not engage them in combat. They have killed Saxons, yes, but we are well armed and they are likely to be afraid of us and unwilling to…." His words were abruptly cut off when the windscreen exploded in a shower of safety glass, the arrow that had shattered it thrumming where it had embedded itself by the handbrake.

"Shit!" Slamming on the brakes instinctively, Sunny felt the truck jolt sideways as a front tyre was punctured by another arrow. Sliding to a stop, they all sat silently, gasping for breath for several seconds. No more arrows were loosed upon the vehicle, but neither did anyone show themselves from the trees around them.

"Well," Lancelot said after several seconds. "Looks like your timid, scared little wood people want to say hello, bruv. Wanna go first or shall I?"

****

A/N: Cheers very much to all the lovely people reading and reviewing this - much appreciated! (thanks D'Arcy and Rachel, kind anon people I can't reply to).


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Arthur Castus!" the voice rang out from the forest, but Arthur could not tell from which direction it was coming from, nor, he thought grimly, how the archer knew his name. Before he had a chance to wonder further, the voice spoke again. "Come out alone and unarmed. I swear to you that neither you nor your men will be harmed, but my words are for you alone."

_Well this should be fun, _Arthur thought to himself. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw his men tensed and ready for combat. If Merlin had wanted to initiate a conversation he certainly could have gone about it in a less violent manner… But since he was in charge and supposed to be negotiating with Merlin's men, he unclipped his seatbelt and handed Sunny his rifle. His friend raised an eyebrow at him and Lancelot muttered a curse under his breath, but Castus ignored them both and got out the truck. Peaceful negotiations would be a lot more likely if he wasn't waving an assault rifle around. The archers could easily have taken him and his driver out if they had wanted to, or made a move to attack once the truck was out action and they still had the element of surprise. They hadn't, and his gut told him that the people in the woods wanted him as a messenger not a corpse.

"Dagonet," he said quietly to the big ex-squaddie. "You're second in command. You all stay put unless you are fired upon, in which case retaliate. But no getting trigger happy here. If I'm not back in ten minutes then get them out of here, Sunny." Arthur glanced over at his driver who shook his head ruefully but didn't say anything.

"Er Commander?" Galahad craned forward and looked distrustfully through the ruined windshield. "We're missing a tyre."

"Doesn't matter. So long as its still got an engine Lt. Alba'll get it going."

"And what about you?" Lancelot protested. "Come on Arthur, I'm not going to let you go out there alone with Robin Hood and his merry band of carjackers. This is stupid."

"Unless you would like to be court-martialled as soon as we return to camp, I suggest you follow orders, private," Arthur snapped. With his back to the forest his skin crawled at the knowledge that he and his men were easy targets. Lancelot's eyes narrowed but for once he bit back a sarcastic retort.

Reluctantly leaving his men, Commander Castus walked a little way up the track. Holding his arms out to show that he had no weapons, he turned in a slow circle, and within a moment two men emerged from the trees. Although both carried rifles, they did not aim them at him. The men were perhaps in their mid twenties, scruffy looking, but alert and obviously not afraid of him or the heavily armed Samartians only a few feet away.

"This way," the shorter of the two said gruffly. "Merlin's waiting." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back into the forest. Arthur glanced back at the stricken truck before following him, aware of the rifle the bloke behind him carried, and equally conscious of the way his little hidden Derringer rubbed against his hip as he moved. Surrendering his main firearm was one thing. Walking into a potentially hostile situation totally unarmed was something altogether different.

The forest was almost ridiculously pretty, Arthur thought to himself, carefully scanning his surroundings. In a world ravaged by disease, bloodshed and terror, the oblivious trees swayed gently in the breeze ,dappling the ground with golden sunlight. The almost forgotten word _tranquillity, _flickered through his mind, and Castus forced himself not to be lulled into a false sense of security. The man who led them stopped at the edge of a large clearing and stood back, obviously looking for someone or something. He didn't have long to wait.

"Arthur Castus." The man who stepped forward to greet him was fairly old, but could not be described in any way as infirm. His hair was mostly grey, his gait a little stiff as though he suffered from the first signs of arthritis, but his eyes were clear and almost disconcertingly direct. "I have been waiting to meet you for a very long time."

While a little nonplussed by such a statement, Arthur was careful not to betray his surprise.

"I regret that I cannot say the same thing."

"No." The older man sighed. "You probably can't. But no matter, you're here now. I am Merlin. Welcome to my home, I believe you were looking for me."

"I was." Unnerved, Castus was aware of the shadows moving at the edge of the clearing. Merlin's people were obviously interested in the meeting but had either been warned from approaching too closely or were afraid to. "Since your information appears to be better than mine, do I need to tell you why I am here?"

"Fate."

The voice came from behind him, and Arthur turned to see an old woman picking her way over the leaf litter towards them. Her hair was silver and tucked into a bun, her face wrinkled with harsh lines that spoke of hardship and long years lived. It was her eyes that caught the attention though. Milky white, they were startling and obviously unseeing. One of the men who had led them to the clearing took her arm and gently directed her to Merlin's side. Two people whose unimposing appearances were in stark contrast to their almost overwhelming presence.

"Arthur Castus," the old woman said, and Arthur realised with a prickle of unease that there was a note of almost maternal pride in her voice. As though sensing his discomfort, for surely her blind eyes could not see it, she gave a low chuckle. "Oh it's alright lad. You're safe enough, no blood will be spilt today, I've seen that already. My name is Zara Taduz, but that's of no matter." Patting Merlin's arm she cocked her head towards him in an almost bird like fashion. "I did ask you not to scare the boy, son. You told your boys to be friendly didn't you?"

"Now." she turned unseeing eyes back to Castus. "I don't like to be a cliché but I'm well aware that you are armed, but there will be no need for shooting, thank-you very much. All we ask is a few moments of your time. There is much for you to do and little time to do it in, so listen well."

Arthur blinked. Even if the woman wasn't obviously blind there was no way that she could have spotted the snub nosed gun hidden in a specially made pocket in his cammo trousers. _Witch_, he thought briefly, before shoving the thought away. He was a soldier not an idiot. These people might be strange but they were obviously well informed - any of the information they had on him could have been gleaned from a spy in camp, but it would not have been easy to find.

"My orders come from my superiors, Mrs Taduz," Castus said quietly. "That is why I and my men are here. We have come to ask you to join us against the Saxons."

"And why should we do that?" Merlin said levelly. "We followed the old ways long before man destroyed itself. The people who you ask us to join are those that brought about the destruction you see all around you. Your men might be willing to be cattle for the military, but my men are not."

_He had a point,_ Arthur noted reluctantly, but nonetheless he had to try and reason with the ageing hippy.

"The camps have medical supplies. Food. Shelter and safety. There is strength in numbers; would you prefer to be at the mercy of the Saxon gangs?"

"We have all those things here," Merlin snapped back. "Better to be free than herded into one of the ghettos the army call refugee stations. As for mercy, we show as little to the Saxons as they do to us."

"Merlin.." Zara Taduz's voice was low, but the warning in it was unmistakable.

Breathing out slowly and calming himself, the older man studied the Commander.

"Change is coming. Whether it is for good or bad depends on you, Arthur Castus. You have nothing to bargain with save one thing."

"And that is?"

"My daughter." Merlin watched the younger man with flinty grey eyes. "She disappeared two weeks ago - I believe one of your lot have taken her."

"My lot?" Arthur was finding it hard not to betray his confusion. "There have been no prisoners taken at the fort, I am sure of that."

"But the same cannot be said of those guarding the estate to the east," Merlin said tightly. "Five of my people were taken by its soldiers, my daughter among them. We cannot risk entering there without being hunted down, but you can. Bring me back my people and I will join you in your fight."

_Shit,_ Arthur thought to himself. There was only one place Merlin could be referring to - the base at Greenhead. It was run by General Honorius, a smug, stupid bastard if there was ever one, but one who had been given his position by Germanius himself. This could prove to be extremely tricky… Nonetheless, they needed Merlin and his obviously well trained men to offset the losses at the base, and if Honorius really had been taking prisoners of war, then god knows how he was treating them.

"I will do my best to return your people to you," Castus said firmly. "And do you give me your word that you and your people will join us when we have done so?"

Merlin gave a slightly disconcerting half smile.

"Bring me my daughter and I'll bring you Saxon," Merlin said. "I will put you on the path you were destined to tread."

_Close enough, _Arthur thought. The armed men behind him broke ranks and stood aside, obviously as a signal that he was free to leave, an assumption that was obviously correct when both Merlin and Zara Taduz nodded politely and walked away. Left alone in the forest, Arthur waited for a few moments before turning around and heading back to the truck. The meeting had gone better than he had feared, but still, he had the strange feeling that it was Merlin and the old woman who had instigated it, and that it was he himself who had been judged.

"Sunny, however you are doing that, pack it in." Galahad's exasperation was impossible to miss as the blond man opposite him lay a straight flush down on the table. "That's just not natural."

"Sorry, Kid. Luck of the draw." Sunny reached over and swept the pieces of wrapped toffee they were using as poker chips over to his side of the table. "Lady luck must be smiling on me."

"That or the cards hidden in your sleeve pocket," Tristan said laconically. Idly whetting the already razor sharp Bowie knife Burgess had given him, he merely gave a wry smile at Sunny's outraged protests and Galahad's demands for his opponent to empty his pockets.

"God, Tristan, for someone who doesn't say much, you know how to piss people off," Lancelot said, watching the drama unfold. "Did someone teach you or does it come naturally?"

"I worked at it," Tristan replied without looking up from his blade. "Might want to separate them though - Arthur probably needs both of them alive tomorrow."

"Might be doing them a favour if they both ended up in the infirmary," Lancelot said, not bothering to get up from the sofa he was stretched out on. Having put up with Sunny's irritating good humour and terrible driving all day, he wasn't adverse to seeing Galahad punch him. Besides, Gawain was attempting to act as mediator, and given that he was of them all the best at calming people down, Lancelot saw no need to get involved. "Armed hippies today, visiting the best mate of one of the biggest twats in the country tomorrow. Why did we sign up to this again?"

"Saxons were worse," Tristan grunted. Running his thumb over the sharpened edge of his blade, he gave an almost feral smile at the thin line of blood that appeared on the pad. "Besides, don't bitch. General Honorius is on our side, at least we're unlikely be shot at."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll offer us tea and cake," Lancelot retorted. "Germanius can't stand us and we're fighting for him. According to Arthur, Honorius is even more of an arse, which since my brother isn't given to exaggeration, means visiting his little kingdom isn't going to be exactly fun."

"Either follow your brother or don't," Tristan said simply. Sheathing his knife, he got up and wandered out of the rec room without acknowledging either Gawain or Galahad who hailed him.

Flopping back onto the sofa, Lancelot gazed up at the peeling paint on the ceiling, and felt the familiar itch in the crook of his arm. The craving for something, anything, to take the edge off this nightmare was hot and dark inside of him, but he let the craving take hold just enough to hurt, just enough to punish, before getting up and turning on the kettle.

"Seen Bors?" Dagonet walked over, rinsed his empty mug out in the sink and ran a weary hand over his eyes. "He's not in his room."

"Outside I think," Lancelot replied. Recognising someone who was looking for solitude, he hadn't commented when the older man had left the rec room, but glancing at the clock, he realised that Bors had been out there for several hours. "Do you want company?"

"Nah," Dagonet gave a tired smile. "I've got it."

The warmth of the night was sweet and fragrant, and Dagonet took a moment to breathe it in as he stepped outside. It wasn't that long ago since he'd had a garden, and the slightly bitter smell of the wild garlic reminded him for a moment of the bulbs he had carefully planted in terracotta pots. _What had happened to his garden?_ he wondered. _With luck wildlife was finding a home where he had once found peace._

Bors wasn't hard to find. Even if he hadn't made no effort at hiding himself, Dagonet would have known where to look. They had grown up side by side, fought side by side, and ultimately shared the same fate. So it was that the older man knew exactly why his cousin was slumped against the barracks wall, and why he did not look up when he approached.

"It's alright to miss her," Dagonet said quietly. He was well aware that he was treading on thin ice when it came to speaking about his cousin's wife, but given that the last time Bors had taken a swing at him the younger man had been so blinded with rage that he'd almost managed to knock himself out, Dagonet decided to chance his friend's wrath. "Vanora and the kids are fine for all you know."

"Yeah." Bors gave a ghost of a laugh. "They're in Spain. Might as well be on the moon for all I know about them. They might…" Bors's voice trailed off and Dagonet settled down next to his cousin, near enough to feel the warmth of his body but not close enough to touch. Bors didn't like pity, and anything he had to say would sound like meaningless platitudes. Vanora had fled to Spain with her sister and their kids when her husband had been locked up. A fresh start she'd termed it, and if the TXZero virus hadn't taken hold a couple of months after she'd left maybe it would have been.

Now though, if she and the kids were alive they were unreachable. Those were the facts and trying to put an optimistic spin on things was pointless.

"She'd have sorted out he poor cows in charge of the kitchens, wouldn't she?" The younger man finally said.

Dagonet didn't look at Bors, but recognized the attempt at reconciliation. Leaning back against the wall of their barracks, he watched a flock of geese flap their ungainly way across a pastel perfect sunset.

"Early days yet," Dagonet said quietly. "Don't beat yourself up over things you can't control." At a loss to comfort his friend, the big ex-squaddie nudged his friend's shoulder. "Cheer up, things could be worse."

"Fucking hell Dag." Bors didn't look at the big man settled beside him. "What's wrong with you? Are you trying to tempt fate or something? We're cannon fodder, not that I can blame the uptight arseholes in charge. I wouldn't trust us either."

Dagonet gave a low laugh. "Might as well go out fighting then."

"Fighting got us locked up in the first place," Bors retorted. "Christ, if I'd known the virus was coming I'd have waited until the bastard died of that instead of going after him."

"Bollocks." His cousin half closed his eyes and listened to the crickets chirping in the long grass. "Anyway, if you hadn't gone after him I would have. May's my god-daughter, remember?"

Bors gave an attempt at a smile that didn't fool Dagonet for a minute. "You were supposed to take her to church and give her book tokens on her birthday, not help murder the man who raped her. That's what you signed up for."

"You don't sign up for family," Dagonet said quietly. "The law didn't work, we made a choice."

"Yeah. Like Van always says, "make a choice and stick with it"". Bors rubbed a hand over his shaven head. "She meant it for when we were in McDonalds and the kids couldn't decide on what Happy Meal to have though. Taking out a paedophile probably wasn't what she had in mind."

"She understood."

Bors nodded. Stretching out his legs he leant back against the wall and watched the dying rays of the sunlight ghost through the faraway trees that hid Merlin and his followers.

"They aren't dead." His voice was so low that Dagonet had to strain to hear it. "Reckon I'd know it if they were in here." Bors tapped his chest as though touching wood for luck. "When we've killed the Saxon bastards and it's safe, I'll find them and bring them back."

Dagonet nodded but didn't say anything. He wanted his surrogate family back too, but unlike his cousin he was cursed with a practicality that meant it was almost impossible to lie to himself as to the likelihood of it happening. Instead he felt the last of the sun's warmth seep from the wall behind him and watched the first bats flit through the darkening sky. Bors had hope, he had the promise he had given his common law wife that he would look after him. It would have to be enough.

**A/N: I don't think it needs to be said that I'm totally playing fast and loose with both mythology and the film here. It'll also be a rather long story I'm afraid. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter - I'm genuinely surprised how supportive people have been to this fic; it's really been a great incentive to keep going. (Rachel - I promise you'll get Tristan's back story very soon and he'll have more to do in future chapters). **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"I'm going to throw up. Sunny, I swear to god…" Galahad closed his eyes and tried to will his churning stomach into calm. As though on cue the large truck he and his colleagues were travelling in hit a pot hole, sending the vehicle bouncing into the air. Bors who was sat opposite him gave the younger man a dubious look and edged sideways a little, almost ending up in Tristan's lap.

"That's a bowie knife in my pocket- I'm not pleased to see you," the dark haired man snapped, and deciding he'd rather his manhood stayed attached to his body, Bors shuffled back to his original position.

"Nearly there," their driver threw back breezily. "Throw up in my truck and you're cleaning it up."

"Thanks," Galahad muttered weakly. A screwed up plastic bag was pressed into his hand by Gawain, and he gave a feeble smile as he unravelled it. The lettering on it proclaimed that it was a Tesco carrier bag, and between wondering whether he would ever live it down if he threw up in it, he wryly noted that this was probably an antique now, along with a million every day items that he had never really thought about before.

"Everyone clear on their orders?" Arthur asked from the front of the cab. _He didn't look bothered by god awful travelling conditions,_ Galahad thought a little resentfully. _Perhaps a little worried though. _The reassuring aura of quiet confidence was still there, but the commander's hazel eyes were narrowed and his posture even more rigid than usual. _Probably needs to get laid more often, _he thought vaguely_, but then didn't they all?_

"Be quiet, play nicely and don't shoot anyone unless you tell us to, sir," Lancelot with studied gravity.

Arthur glared at his younger brother but obviously thought better of surrendering his control by getting into an argument.

"In essence, yes, although it could have been better phrased, private." He said tersely. "I need General Honorius on side, and that means no pissing him or his men off. We go in, we collect the prisoners and then we leave. We need Merlin, and the quicker we get his daughter back to him, the quicker that will be achieved. Are we all clear on that?"

There were a few mumbled "yes sirs" from Bors, Dagonet and Gawain and Lancelot, a grunt from Tristan and the unmistakable sound of retching from Galahad who was busy emptying his stomach into a plastic bag. _God help us, _Arthur thought to himself, rolling down the window and letting some fresh air into the truck. Even with a letter from Germanius ordering the release of the prisoners there was no guarantee that Honorius would hand them over, or even if they were still alive. No matter what he said, if the mission failed or Merlin turned on them, it would be his men who would take the blame.

"Here we go." Lt. Alba eased the truck down a well maintained road and gave a low whistle as Greenhead base came into view. Once an Elizabethan manor house, it had expanded to accommodate the refugees who had fled for the relative security of being close to the military and now looked a bit like a music festival with tents surrounding the old building. Nonetheless the property had an air of stately grandeur wholly lacking in the dingy buildings back at the Wall. Predictably two khaki coloured land rovers intercepted them when they were perhaps a quarter of a mile from the camp. Getting out of the vehicles, eight heavily armed soldiers approached the truck, obviously willing to open fire if provoked.

Arthur got out of the truck slowly, leaving his rifle on the front seat. Reaching into his top pocket slowly, he took out his I.D. and making sure his motions could not be misconstrued, tossed it over towards the middle aged man who was obviously in charge. The sandy-haired man motioned for one of his soldiers to retrieve it, and carefully swept his eyes over the card and then Arthur, checking his identity against the photo. Obviously satisfied, he gave a quick nod and motioned for his men to fall back.

"Welcome Commander Castus, it is an honour to meet you. I am Officer Miller. If you would inform your driver we shall escort you to headquarters.

"Thank-you officer." Returning to the truck, he and his men followed the two smaller vehicles down to the stately house. Miller must have radioed ahead, Arthur surmised, for General Honorius was waiting for them at the gate.

"Arthur!" The tubby man greeted his visitor with a false exuberance that immediately put Castus' teeth on edge. "It's been too long. What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Indeed." Arthur shook the General's hand politely. "I and my men have been sent by General Germanius. It seems that you have some prisoners in your care that are needed at the Wall. We're here simply to take them off your hands."

"Prisoners?" Honorious' eyes narrowed. "What would Germanius want with _them_?"

Arthur handed over the letter he had been given and watched the General read it, feeling the first pangs of unease when the man visibly paled. Behind him, he heard his men exiting the truck and hoped that Galahad wouldn't throw up on the lawn.

"There may be a problem." Honorious's voice was tight. "I was given no instructions to keep those hippy savages alive. Had I but known…. I'm not sure how many are still left."

"You don't know?" Arthur was so incredulous at the man's ineptitude that he forgot to be polite. "Where are they being held?"

"Oh they're in the cellars, or they were." The General's voice was peevish. "Fulcinia!" he yelled towards the main door. After only a few seconds a pretty woman in her forties hurried over, her black hair flying behind her.

"Sir?" _Italian_, probably, Arthur thought from her faint accent. She kept her eyes on the ground though so he had no chance to study her features.

"The prisoners in the cellar. Are there any left?"

Fulcinia's head darted up, her eyes wide and fearful. She seemed to be unable to work out what to say.

"I'm sorry Sir. I know that we were not supposed to…" She stuttered.

"Yes or no?" Honorious snapped.

"Yes," the maid said in a small voice. " A couple of them still live."

The General's hands curled into fists and Arthur took a half step forward, willing to intervene if it looked like he was going to strike the woman. Honorious noticed the movement and obvious re-thought his plans.

"Take the Commander and his men to the dungeons - inform the guards that the prisoners are to be released to them."

Fulcinia nodded and half ran back to the house before remembering that she was supposed to be escorting Arthur and his men. Nodding her head obsequiously at the Commander, she waited for he and the Samartians to catch up before leading them through the ornate doors.

"Bit posh innit?" Bors remarked as they crossed the ornate hallway. "How come _we_ don't get digs like this?"

"Complaining already?" Gawain retorted. "At least you can get out your room without being let out and don't have to share it with Big Charlie."

"Ah Charlie was alright," Bors said fondly, his eyes still taking in the oil paintings that lined the walls and the carved woodwork. "Unless you supported Everton. Or he didn't like you. Or you nicked his Mills and Boons, or…."

"Truly a prince among men," Lancelot murmured. "You must miss him."

Bors was prevented from replying from the reproving glare Arthur shot at him. With a prickle of unease, he noted Tristan's expression. The northerner was pale, the white skin throwing the tattoos on his cheeks into sharp relief. The last time Tristan had been in a house like this he had slaughtered several of its occupants, and Arthur was glad that Dagonet slid to the smaller mans side in what was either a gesture of support or anticipation of another meltdown. _Hopefully the former, _Arthur thought. He liked the taciturn scout, but he'd put a bullet in him if he suddenly decided to go on another shooting spree.

Crossing a huge room that was obviously the hub of the operation given the amount of charts and maps tacked to the wooden panelled walls, Fulcinia opened a concealed door and revealed a stone staircase that curved downwards into darkness. Hesitating for a brief moment, she started down the steps without looking back. A few bare light bulbs suspended from the ceiling gave a sulphur yellow glow to the narrow passage, before it opened into a large rank smelling room. Although described as a cellar by Honorious, it resembled nothing so much as a dungeon. A few anti-riot barricades had been wedged across the walls to make a half dozen makeshift "cages", but the light was too low to be able to see who or what resided in them. Two guards sat at a small table in the middle playing cards by light of of the single light bulb that hung above them. The smell of decay and body waste was almost overpowering.

"Come to warm us up, darlin'?" One of the soldiers said with a chuckle, eying Fulcinia. "We're due a treat being stuck down here all morning."

The woman was saved from having to answer by Arthur, who stepped out of the shadows and moved her gently aside.

Taking in the stench and squalor, he found it difficult to control his anger and disgust.

"I am Commander Castus," he bit out. "I have come to claim the prisoners."

The other guard chuckled.

"Should have left it a couple of days mate - there's still a couple left. Would have saved you a…"

His quip was abruptly cut off when Arthur grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"Keys now, _mate."_

"Here, " the guard choked out, fumbling in his pocket and withdrawing a large keyring. Arthur dropped him and grabbed the keys. Swiftly unlocking the padlocks that held the "cages" shut, he ordered his men to check for survivors.

"You can't just…" The guard's protest died away when Gawain pulled a Bowie knife from his belt and held it to the man's throat. From where he stood he could see the body of an emaciated old man and a young woman, both obviously dead. Only his promise to Arthur prevented him from putting an end to soldier.

"Jesus…" Bors breathed, opening another cage and letting out a breath of relief when he found it empty.

"There's one alive!" Dagonet's voice was the only one that rang out with anything other than abject horror. Ducking under the low doorway, he held out a hand to the small boy who huddled, terrified, at the back of the cell. "Don't be afraid," he said in the voice he used to use when Vanora's youngest were scared of thunderstorms. "No-one will hurt you."

Whether because of his words or the sincerity of his eyes, the boy seemed to relax a little and shuffled forwards slightly. Holding out a small hand, he placed it in Dagonet's big palm. The big man gently reached forward and picked up the boy, trying to quell his rage as he saw the way the child cradled one obviously injured arm to his chest.

"It's alright," Dagonet whispered, and the boy either out of relief or exhaustion rested his head upon his chest.

"Arthur!" Lancelot called out. "Someone's here. Got another key?"

Castus quickly went to his brother and went to work on the padlock. Unlike the other cells it was double locked, and expecting to see a large man when he opened the door, he was shocked at what he found. A young woman was curled against the wall, filthy dark hair only partially obscuring her bloodshot eyes. She made no protest when Arthur ducked into the cell and carefully picked her up, although he felt her frail body flinch when he shifted his grip and bumped her against his shoulder.

Straightening, he saw the boy in Dagonet's arms and the empty cells that had obviously been used to imprison those even less fortunate than the two wretches they had rescued.

"Put the bastards in the cells," he ordered Gawain and Galahad who looked more than eager to eviscerate the two guards they held. Holding the girl close, Arthur made his way back up the stairs, his men behind him.

Marching through the house and ignoring the startled guards and maids, he carefully put the girl down on a large sofa in the hallway and threw open the door. Outside Honorious was barking orders at his guards, all of whom looked as rattled as he did. Fulcinia knelt at his feet, blood trickling from a split lip, and feeling nothing but blind rage, Castus stalked over to the General and punched him squarely in the jaw. Honorious went down hard, his eyes huge with pain and disbelief.

"What in the hell did you think you were doing?" Arthur roared at the downed man, noting with perverse satisfaction the fear that flickered across his face. "Brutalizing women and children? Has that what it has come to?"

"They were savages," the General whined. His eyes flicked towards his guards, none of whom met his eyes. "What does it matter what happens to them? If Germanius had told me they…"

Arthur turned on his heel, not bothering to listen to the rest of the flabby man's excuses. Offering his hand to Fulcinia who looked shell shocked, he led her back to his men. Bors had picked up the girl and all the Samartians looked tense and eager for a fight. Realising that punching a superior officer in front of his men probably wasn't the best was of keeping the situation calm, and recognizing the likelihood of violence if they didn't get out of there quickly, Arthur ordered his men to the truck.

"I'll have you court-martialled for this, Castus," Honorious spat. "When Germanius hears about this you'll be lucky if you live as long as those Samartian bastards."

Castus looked at the General's red face, the indecisive soldiers that stood behind him, and back to the truck where the two prisoners were carefully being placed inside. Turning back to Honorious he gave the first genuine smile in weeks.

"Go fuck yourself, General."

Striding over to the truck, he swung up into the cab and slammed the door behind him.

"Get us out of here, Sunny," he ordered the driver, and for once without a smart retort, Lt. Alba gunned the gas and sped away from Greenhill base as fast as he could.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading/reviewing - cheers D'Arcy and Rachel kind annoymice : )


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The drive back to the Wall was done in almost complete silence. Glancing behind him, Arthur noted the tense silence of his men and the complete absence of banter. The boy they had rescued sat on Dagonet's lap, either asleep or unconscious, the young woman huddled against Fulcinia. _Hijacking Honorious' maid probably wouldn't go down too well, _Arthur thought, _but then a little more trouble wouldn't make much of a difference now. _It didn't seem to take long before the familiar gates appeared ahead of them, and nodding to the guards, Arthur tried not to let his worry show as his men got out of the truck.

"Go back to your quarters, I'll debrief you shortly. If Alice is there ask her to fix you something to eat." Noticing Dagonet's reluctance to relinquish the child, he nodded to the big ex-squaddie. "Dagonet, bring the child with me to the med bay. Fulcinia you come too." Reaching into the back of the truck, he held a hand out to the girl inside. "Don't be afraid, I'm going to take you to a doctor."

The girl nodded and let herself be shifted into his arms. Featherlight and trembling, Arthur felt a surge of rage towards General Honorious, but squashed it down and headed towards the infirmary. The long, low building was brightly lit and the sharp tang of disinfectant assailed the senses as they entered.

"I need some help over here," Arthur called out to a group of nurses working at the far end of the room. Gently placing the girl onto an empty bed, he was surprised when she reached out and caught his sleeve when he tried to turn away. Thin to the point of emaciation and obviously in pain, there was nonetheless a calm determination in her dark eyes.

"I am Guinevere," she said quietly. "You are Arthur."

"Yes." No surprise that she had heard his name mentioned, but the thoughtful expression upon her face was almost a little unnerving.

"My grandmother has told me of you, and of what will come to pass." She smiled gently. "Thank-you for saving us."

"You're welcome." Stepping back, Arthur gratefully let a nurse bustle over and start fussing over the girl. _What was it with Merlin's people and these hippy prophecies? _Seeing that the boy was being attended to, Arthur sent Dagonet back to his quarters and asked one of the nurses to sort out accomodation for Fulcinia, before heading off to debrief Germanius._

* * *

_

"You know, Lancelot, even though he looks like he's got a stick wedged up his arse, your brother can be pretty awesome," Galahad remarked settling back into his chair. "That punch he gave the General? Bam!" He gave a chuckle of delight. "Reckon he could do the same to Germanius?"

"Not unless he wants to get court martialled," Lancelot replied. In truth, he was a little worried about his brother. Arthur rarely lost his temper, and certainly not towards authority figures like the General. Accepting a cup of muddy looking coffee from Gawain, he settled down on the sofa and took a sip. It tasted as bad as it looked.

Gawain saw his expression and laughed. "Sorry mate, best I can do with what we've got. Remember the days when you could pop down the corner shop and buy a pint of milk?"

"Oh don't," Bors groaned opening one eye from where he was slumped in a tatty armchair. "You've got me thinking about mars bars now."

"Ice cream…" Galahad added wistfully.

"And cheese and marmite sandwiches." Gawain's stomach gave a noisy rumble as though in agreement.

"You are such a freak." Galahad shook his head in disgust. "What about you Tris?" he asked the lean northerner who was gazing out the window. "What do you miss from before?"

A brief expression of what almost looked like pain flickered across the scout's face, but before Galahad could recognise it, it was gone. Shrugging, the scout turned back to the window.

"Darts".

"Shame we haven't got a board in here," Bors mused. "Used to quite like a game myself."

Gawain gave a small laugh. "Well if you ever have a game with Gal, then I suggest you stand well back. Once…"

The story was cut off when the door to the rec room opened and Dagonet made his way inside. Bors gave his friend a critical once over, noting the tired eyes and slumped shoulders.

"Kettle's just boiled mate," he said. "Want a cuppa?" Paltry comfort, but Vanora always said that there wasn't much in the world that wasn't helped by a cup of tea.

"Yeah." Picking up a mug with an incongruously smiley face on it, Dagonet made his drink and sat down next to Bors.

"Kid alright?" His cousin asked.

Dagonet shrugged. "Broken arm, been treated like shit for a couple of weeks, but the nurse reckons he'll be ok."

"What about the girl?" Lancelot rubbed a hand through his shaggy curls. "Thought she was dead when I opened that cell."

"Don't know." Dagonet stifled a yawn. "She was sitting up and talking to Arthur though."

"God Honorious was a bastard," Gawain said in disgust. "Couldn't you have taken him out Tris? Would have been doing the world a favour."

Tristan merely grunted and went back to looking at the darkening sky.

The sound of clattering dishes and a muttered curse signalled the arrival of dinner. Wedging the door open with her shoulder, her tongue sticking out in concentration, Alice carefully manoeuvred a large tray into the room. Setting it down on the sideboard, she smiled shyly at the soldiers.

"It's rabbit curry," she said. "I hope that's ok. I'll just go and get your plates and things."

"I'll give you a hand." Gawain got to his feet immediately, and Galahad stifled a snort of amusement.

"Oh," she looked a bit surprised. "Ok, thanks."

Following her to the door, Gawain flicked the younger man the finger before closing the door behind him.

* * *

Commander Castus closed the door to General Breunnus' chambers with an iron willed self control. He badly wanted to slam it and then give it a couple of kicks for good measure, but instead the latch clicked softly and he walked down the passage with his usual even stride. _God but the man was an ass! _The jibes about his leadership and judgement he could put up with, but the General's blithe belief that the atrocities Honorius had committed were perfectly reasonable because they were both "good old boys", made his stomach churn with anger. Aside from a few choice insults and probably the beginnings of an ulcer, he had gotten off fairly lightly, he acknowledged. There were precious few commanders of his experience and calibre around, and while the thought of a junior officer being put in command of the Samartians was enough to raise a faint smile, Brennus wasn't stupid enough to try it.

Pausing at the entrance of the building, Arthur weighed up his options. He was tired, hungry and should probably inform Jols of what was going on, but instead he made his way to the infirmary. Guinevere and the boy were to be taken back to Merlin the next day, and that knowledge might be of some comfort to two people who had been through such a harrowing experience.

The evening shift was quiet in the med-bay and only five of the thirty or so beds occupied, so aside from a nurse who looked up and nodded briefly, no-one paid much attention to him as he entered the med bay. Both Guinevere and the boy looked to be asleep. Someone had unearthed a tatty looking teddy bear and the boy, Lucan, given the name at the top of his bedside chart, clutched it with the arm that wasn't encased in plaster. Unwilling to disturb either of them, he couldn't help walking over to where Guinevere lay.

She was a little older than he had thought - perhaps early twenties, and with the grime washed away and her dark hair brushed, quite startlingly pretty. One of her hands was bandaged and bruises mottled the pale skin of her arms, but her breathing was steady, and Arthur felt a pang of sadness that something so fragile should have had to endured so much. As though picking up on his thoughts, her brow furrowed and she whimpered in her sleep. Kicking out, she dislodged her blanket, her good hand twisting in the sheets. Of all the words Arthur would use to describe himself as, tender would not be one of them, but he found himself reaching out to stroke Guinevere's hair and murmur soft reassurance until she calmed a little. Tucking the blanket back over her, he left the infirmary, a little disconcerted.

Jols was waiting for him in his office and Arthur laughed when he saw the plate of stew and large glass of wine.

"Are you psychic or something, Jols?

"Three years as concierge in the Ritz", his assistant said with a hint of pride. "First rule of service - always be prepared."

"The Ritz?" Arthur grinned. "Bit of a comedown for you isn't this? The closest we get to fine dining here is occasionally getting matching cutlery."

Jols shrugged. "Well, what we lack in cuisine we make up for in firepower. And there are less obnoxious tourists here."

"Just obnoxious Generals," Arthur replied with a conspiratorial wink. "Thanks Jols, take the rest of the evening off I don't need you for the paperwork I've got."

"Thank you sir." Jols nodded and left, and Arthur settled down to eat. Briefly he wondered if Merlin's people had enough to eat, and then wondered why he cared.

* * *

"So, how long have you been here?" Gawain asked the dark haired girl walking beside him.

Alice shrugged. "About five months I reckon; time's a bit weird now, you know since…" She didn't need to complete the sentence. "It's not like there's any point in writing anything on a calendar."

"Birthdays?" Gawain suggested. "Christmas?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "If you've got your heart set on santa and fairy lights I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed." She hesitated for a moment. Everything that she'd like to ask the Samartian next to her was either rude or likely to offend him. There really wasn't a polite way of asking him what he'd been sent to prison for. "How are you liking the fort?" she asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she mentally kicked herself. _Why Alice, I'm sure he's loving the food, ambience and likelihood of being sent out to get shot by Saxons._

Sensing her unease, Gawain shot her a grin that had her smiling back without really knowing why.

"It's everything I expected a military base to be. But that's not what you really want to know is it?"

Wrongfooted, Alice wasn't quite sure how to reply. Belatedly realising that they were crossing part of the base that provided several dark corners where the blond man could easily drag her off to and rape her, she fingered the knife in her pocket. Kate would have her head if she knew just how blithely she had accepted the help of a convicted criminal.

Gawain noticed her sudden tension and the way her eyes darted around their surroundings.

"It's alright," he said kindly. "I just came to help you carry things, not find an opportunity to attack you."

"I wasn't thinking that," Alice retorted far too quickly. Noting the slight twist of his mouth, she hurriedly changed the subject. "What did you mean "that wasn't what I wanted to know"".

The big man pretended to think. "Well, it could either be where did I get my devastating good looks, in which case you'd have to thank my parents, or more likely you'd like to know what got me locked up in Samartia prison."

"Sorry." Alice concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. "You don't owe me any explanations."

"It's alright. This isn't exactly Camelot - you should know the people around you, especially if you're going to be around me and the rest of the boys. Letting your guard down isn't a good idea these days, especially for pretty girls like you."

Alice flushed a little at the compliment but kept her voice even. "So should I be afraid of you and the rest of "your boys"?"

Gawain shook his head. "Nope. Reckon you're a lot safer with us than with some of the bastards around here. None of my platoon'll lay a finger on you." He smirked. "Well unless you get lonely and fancy a cuddle…"

Alice laughed in amused outrage. "I think I'll be alright thanks."

Opening the door to the kitchen, she dragged one of the big trays out and piled a stack of plates and cutlery on it. On a large platter she placed a loaf of bread and a bag of apples. Picking them up, she asked Gawain to take the tray. Concentrating on not dropping anything, she was startled half to death when the sound of an explosion split the calm evening silence.

"Stand still, it's alright," Gawain said quietly. Studying the faint glow of fire far away on the hills, his jaw tightened. "We're well out of range."

Alice swallowed. Being so busy it was almost easy to put the threat of attack from her mind.

"Saxons," she whispered. "They're getting closer."

_Yeah, they really are, _Gawain thought. _And given that there were several bases between the Wall and where he had last encountered them, it wasn't good news for the military._

"They're too far away to make an attack tonight," he said reassuringly, "and the camp is well fortified. Try not to worry."

Alice gave him a look that could only be construed as _yeah, right,_ but started walking again.

"You've seen Saxons," she said. It was a statement not a question. Gawain nodded. "I've seen them too. Them and what they do to the people they kill. What do you think makes them like that?"

"Pretty heavy question." Gawain sighed. "Dagonet thinks it might be a side effect of the Txzero, but I don't know. Some people just like killing I guess." His voice sounded

sad, and had they both not had their arms full, Alice was surprised to think that she might have reached out and squeezed his hand.

Gawain gave her a crooked smile. "It beats dying luv." Shouldering open the door to the barracks, they moved into the light, trying to forget for a moment what waited in the darkness.

****

A/N: Bit of a "bitty" chapter this. Action in the next one. Thanks very much to every one reading and reviewing. Thanks very much to Gargoyle13 and abthetis for pointing out (in a very kind way) that I am a daft idiot for uploading my uncorrected chapter originally! *doh*


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The fires on the hills had dulled to faint embers when Arthur made his way to the barracks. Lancelot watched his brother cross the open ground between the main buildings and wondered exactly what he felt. Pride, certainly, for hadn't Arthur treated his fellow prisoners with compassion and respect? Worry - that was a new one. The last ten years of him messing up, counting on his brother to save him and then promptly kicking him in the teeth for having the audacity to do so, had left him with the idea that Arthur was somehow immune to emotion, or at least above it. Lancelot watched the tall man rub a weary hand over his forehead, his steps without their automatic grace, and felt a chill of disquiet. Arthur wasn't supposed to get tired, or upset or angry. He was supposed to be the perfect big brother, and that meant being better than everyone, certainly better than _him._ Not sad eyed and exhausted and looking exactly how Lancelot felt.

"Hey." Calling out, the younger man gave a decent approximation of a smile when his brother looked over. "Want some company?"

Arthur didn't say anything, but crossed the distance between them with a few long strides. Pulling a hip flask from a pocket in his cammos, he took a long drink before passing it over.

Lancelot wrinkled his nose as the alcohol burnt a path down to his stomach.

"Whisky." He took another, smaller, drink. "Been a while since I've tasted that."

Arthur gave a half smile. "Perks of being the boss."

"Sure it's not bribery for taking us lot on? Shouldn't drink alone, bruv. You don't want to end up like me."

"A soldier?" Arthur's voice was low but amused. Sitting down beside his brother he yawned and slapped a mosquito from his arm. "You've done well. Must have taken guts to come here like you did. I'm…" He paused, not wanting to push the past between them. "Dad would have been proud of you."

Lancelot tipped his head back. The wall was cool beneath his curls, the air fragrant with wildflowers, grass, oil and exhaust smoke. Idly he watched a cloud obscure the first evening star and felt the warmth of his brother's body next to his.

"Good job he and mum didn't live to see this," he said eventually. "Can't imagine dad in this shit hole."

Arthur gave a wry chuckle. " Wouldn't have minded seeing him and Germanius face off."

Lancelot smiled, dark eyes flashing. "Remember when that officer tried to grope mum? I thought the bloke was going to wet himself."

"Probably safer tackling dad than mum," Arthur replied. "Remember when you broke the turkey dish? You could have been an Olympic sprinting champion".

Lancelot smiled. "Yeah. Shame I wasn't brave enough to cross the road on my own. I might have gotten away."

"To mum and dad." Arthur held up the hip flask in a toast and took a swallow of the contents before handing it over to his brother.

"Mum and dad," Lancelot echoed, taking a drink. "It's good to see you." Concentrating hard on screwing the lid back on the pewter flask, Lancelot didn't look at the older man next to him. "This whole thing is messed up, but I'm glad we got to, you know…"

"Make really awkward conversation?" Arthur suggested.

Lancelot laughed and shook his head. "That was a really dramatic and touching moment you just ruined bruv. If this was a film there'd be soppy music and everything."

"Sorry." Arthur stretched his legs and gave his brother a sideways look. "If it counts for anything, it's good to see you too."

"You are so gay," Lancelot retorted. He abruptly went silent when a shadowy figure crossed the meadow and disappeared behind one of the outbuildings. Hearing Arthur take the safety off his pistol, he reached out and grabbed his brother's wrist. "It's ok, it's just Tristan."

"He shouldn't be wandering around the camp on his own," Arthur said tightly, "it's dangerous for himself as well as the others." Half getting to his feet, he was surprised when Lancelot didn't let go of him.

"Don't." Lancelot glanced towards where the scout had last been, but the man had already disappeared into the shadows. "He just needs to be on his own for a bit, he'll come back in an hour or so without causing any trouble."

"I take it this a regular occurrence then." Curious, Arthur sat back down. He remembered the notes in Tristan Kelly's file, but the essence of the man continued to evade him. "You sure it's wise to let a convicted killer run around the camp?"

"You're letting me sit out here, and I've got a murder rap, remember?" Lancelot gave a faint smile. "Of course Tris actually deserved his, but then the bastards he killed had it coming."

"He's talked to you about the killings at the McBride estate?" Arthur had read a description of the massacre at the stately home and read the lurid details, but the motive remained a mystery, as did the taciturn northerner. "Why did he do it?"

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably. "Not for me to say - it's Tristan's story, but don't write him off as some trigger happy nutcase. I reckon there was a lot left out of whatever info they gave you about him."

Before Arthur could ask what he meant, Sunny ambled around the corner. Yawning widely, he took in the sight of his commander stretched out against the wall and grinned.

"They making their Commanders sleep on the grass now, Arthur? You should complain."

"Shut up Lieutenant," Arthur said without rancour. "Where have you been - I seem to remember instructing you to go back to the barracks with the others."

"And that is exactly what I did, Commander Castus, Sir." Sunny snapped a quick salute. "However a damsel in distress required my help, and gentleman that I am, I could not refuse her."

"Whose knickers are you trying to get into this time," Arthur asked wearily.

The blond man gave a huff of mock outrage. "Do you mind. My motives were entirely selfless. The fair Fulcinia needed someone to show her to her new quarters and I obliged. Sweet lady, going to help out the nurses in the med bay. Speaking of which, I hear you've been visiting the prisoners. Sure you want to take the little brunette back to Merlin tomorrow? She's pretty cute."

Arthur felt himself irrationally irritated, and squashed the emotion down.

" She's a half starved woman who has spent the last few weeks in hell. The sooner we get her and the boy back to Merlin the better."

Sunny gave his commander a knowing look. "Right you are then boss. Just make sure Galahad doesn't throw up in the back of my truck - it's the only four by four that's got a decent roof and I'm not having it stinking of sick."

"I'll let him know," Arthur said dryly. "In the meantime I'd get some rest; we move out at first light."

"'course we do," Sunny sighed. "God forbid we ever get a lie-in". Glancing at the faint flicker of fire on the hillside, he sobered. "The Saxons are getting fucking close, Castus. Attacking The Wall is one thing, but bombing out in the open like that? Have we got back up tomorrow?"

"Bremmner and his regiment are coming with us," Arthur replied. "They'll watch our backs, but this is a simple drop off - in and out. If we get into trouble we get out of there."

Sunny gave his Commander a rueful look. "Yeah, I've heard that one before." Not waiting to hear the reply, he climbed the steps to the barracks, throwing a quick "'night girls," behind him.

"He's got a point," Lancelot said thoughtfully. "We drop the girl and the kid off, then what? Do Merlin's lot just trot along back to camp with us? Can't really see that working."

"We don't need Merlin's men here," Arthur replied. "Hard enough feeding the refugees without adding them into the mix. If we've got them on side we've got an early warning system when it comes to the Saxons and back up if we need it."

"So they're basically a panic alarm only more disposable," Lancelot said with disgust. "That's pretty fucked up even for Germanius."

Arthur smiled. "Ah, but Germanius isn't coming with us is he?"

Lancelot picked up the note of amusement in his brother's voice and couldn't help grinning.

"What have you got planned?"

"Wait and see little brother." Getting to his feet, Arthur rolled his shoulders. "Wait and see."

* * *

"Well this is fun, isn't it chaps?" Burgess, head of the armoury, gunsmith extraordinaire and ex Metallica roadie, grinned at the Samartian soldiers and offered Guinevere a rather grubby Murray mint. Squashed together in the back of Sunny's truck, the rest of the men looked at the cheerful, if scruffy, man sullenly.

"It's six o clock in the morning," Bors said irritably. "Fun is not a word to describe this."

Lucan, curled up on Dagonet's lap to stop him getting bounced around too much by the truck's less than stellar suspension, looked at the gunsmith curiously.

"What does your Tshirt say?"

Dagonet glanced at the "Revolting Cocks" shirt stretched over Burgess's belly and hurriedly changed the subject.

"Are you looking forward to going home?" He asked the blond boy. "I bet your mum has missed you."

"Ma's dead," the boy said matter of factly. "So's dad. But Sarah and Sacha will have missed me. And Merlin. He tells the best stories, doesn't he Guin?"

"He does." Wedged between Burgess and Bors, Guinevere looked tiny, but although still frail, a decent bath, a good nights sleep and several hearty meals had left her feeling a lot more alert. Grinning at Lucan who seemed quite happily settled on the big soldier's lap, she felt her eyes straying towards the man in the front of the cab for what must have been the hundredth time. She'd heard Zara Taduz's prophecies - discounted most of them, believed some and was frankly unnerved when on occasion the gypsy woman had been uncannily accurate - but she had never given much thought to her words about Arthur Castus.

That the world had irrevocably changed, and not for the better, was indisputable, but the idea that one man could raise Britain like a phoenix from the ashes had always seemed ridiculous. A fairy story meant to comfort children who had lost everything to the Txzero virus. But Arthur…

_You need to get laid more often, girl, _she told herself fiercely. Just because a drop dead gorgeous man with kind hazel eyes breaks you out of a prison cell, saves your life, and from the looks of things is willing to arm your surrogate family with illegal weapons, doesn't make him the saviour of the human race. She watched the Commander turn towards the driver, dark curls slightly windswept from the open window and wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

"Are you alright?" The handsome dark haired man sat opposite her raised an eyebrow , and Guinevere tried not to blush. Her broken hand throbbed with pain when she shoved her hands into her lap, and she concentrated on that and not on the look of amusement on the soldier's face. _Lancelot,_ she remembered. That was the soldier's name.

"I'm fine, thank-you", she said with as much politeness as she could muster. "It's a lovely day isn't it?"

_Nice one Guin,_ she thought to herself. _You've killed, what fifteen Saxons since the virus? endured torture without much more than a whimper and after half an hour in a truck with the enemy you're mentally undressing the Commander and talking about the weather._

"Lovely." Lancelot echoed her words without bothering to disguise his amusement. "So do you have your eye on any of Brennus's toys or are you more of a watch and clean up afterwards kind of girl?"

Guinevere felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "The Beretta's pretty but the recoil is a bitch. The AK's good on open ground, but not suitable for the forest . Likewise the shotguns. I'll take the Ed Brown Custom 1911 .45 ACP. Easy to reload, little recoil and it'll put a Saxon down quicker than that rifle you've got sat in your lap with the safety off."

Burgess blinked in disbelief before laughing out loud.

"Gentlemen, meet my future wife."

Handing back the rather squashed mint that the squat middle aged man had handed her earlier, Guinevere couldn't help grinning as he patted her on the shoulder. The rest of the men guffawed with laughter, and even Arthur looked back and smiled. Meeting his warm green gaze, anything she was about to say was cut off by the boom of an explosion. The truck rocked and Sunny swore as he tried to keep them from toppling over.

"Fuck," Gawain said with quiet awe as the range rover behind them burst into flames. There wasn't any time to worry about the men escorting them. Within seconds something hit their truck, throwing it over on its side and sending it sliding down the steep gully beside the road. Hanging on to the back of the bench she had been sat on, with her good hand, Guinevere tucked her legs under her and was only dimly aware of the Samartian soldiers trying to brace themselves beside her. Lucan screamed, but before she could turn to find him, the truck slammed into a tree and everything went black.

**A/N. Reviews are kindness - please let me know where I'm going wrong. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Arthur grabbed the side of his seat as the truck went into freefall. Unable to do anything to prevent the crash he did his best to stay limp as his body slammed into the side of the door. Sparks of pain shot through his hip and he bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he retained enough awareness to cover his head when the truck's hood collided with a tree. A shower of leaves pattered onto what was left of the windscreen, obscuring the view, and for a moment the Commander could do nothing but try and force air into his battered chest and work out if all his extremities were still attached.

Deciding that he was more or less in one piece, Arthur struggled to a sitting position. The truck was wedged on its side against two trees, the only way out either out the back or by climbing over a very dazed looking Lt. Alba.

"Sunny?" Arthur reached out and prodded the driver. "You alright?"

"Peachy." The blond man's voice was slurred and blood from a gash in his forehead trickled into his left eye, making him squint. With an effort he shifted himself sideways and hauled himself up via what was left of the window frame. "That was fun."

Reassured that his friend was at least mostly coherent, Arthur craned his head around the back of the seat and searched in the gloom for his men.

"We've got a couple of minutes before the Saxons are on us - how many of you are hurt and how badly?" he barked out.

"Fuck this shit," Galahad murmured dazedly. "I'm Ok… Gawain?" Extricating himself from the blond man pinning him to the floor of the truck, he winced as he saw the slack features of his unconscious friend. "Gawain's out of it. Tris?"

"Fine." The scout took barely a moment to glance at his comrades before shouldering open the flaps at the back of the truck. "We've got company." Grabbing his rifle he had ducked out of sight before Arthur could stop him.

"The girl's unconscious. Easier to get her out the front while we get Gawain out." Lancelot picked up Guinevere's limp body and shoved her rather inelegantly into the front of the cab. "Kid?" Lucan looked at him wide-eyed, but scrambled after the girl and onto Sunny's lap.

"My arms fucked, but I'll live," Dagonet said, his voice tight with pain. "Bors?"

"Never better," his cousin answered. There was blood dripping from his nose, but Arthur noted with relief that he looked otherwise unharmed.

"Sooner we get out of here the better, Boss," Burgess snapped, helping to haul Gawain off Galahad.

"We stay here, we're sitting ducks," Arthur acknowledged quietly, although why he lowered his voice he couldn't have said - it wasn't as though the Saxons didn't know where they were. "Everyone out and move to the forest on the left. Back up and stay together."

The shouts of approaching Saxons was drowning out the crackle of fire from the burning escort vehicle, and well aware that time was not on their side, Arthur grabbed Lucan so that Sunny could get free.

"Arthur, I can…. " Struggling out of the truck, Sunny's blue eyes met his Commander's with confusion before abruptly rolling back. Wedged halfway out of the window, his head smacked against the bonnet of the truck, sending a spray of blood and brain over the paintwork, the neat bullet hole at the base of his neck at odds with the mess surrounding it.

"Simon!" Arthur lunged forwards, only to quickly scrabble backwards, the slam of bullets near his face throwing up pieces of foam and plastic from the driver's seat.

"Get down! " he yelled at the men in the back of the truck. The gunfire was almost deafening, slicing through the canvas sides of the truck and pinging off the underside of the vehicle. Sliding into the footwell, and pushing Guinevere's limp body aside, Castus fumbled for his pistol. The rifle had better range, but he had no room to manoeuvre. Holding a terrified Lucan down with one hand, he elbowed the smashed windscreen onto the front of the truck and fired at the shaggy haired man who leapt onto the bonnet.

His aim was true, and the man fell to the ground with a cry.

"Castus get the fuck out the truck; they're going to blow it." Tristan's warning rang out, and for the first time Arthur heard a rasp of fear in the northerner's voice.

"You heard him! Move!" Castus yelled to his men. Without any time to be gentle, he grabbed Lucan by the scruff of his neck and almost threw him out the front of the truck. Sunny's blank eyed gaze was almost accusing as he slung Guinevere over his shoulder and clambered over the bonnet, but regrets would have to come later - if there was a later. Sliding over the buckled metal, Arthur felt the sting of glass cut into his forearm as a bullet slammed into the fender mere inches from him, and dropped heavily to the ground, rolling so as not to crush the woman in his arms.

Lucan watched with wide eyes, seemingly too terrified to move, and taking his uninjured arm Arthur half dragged him into the shelter of the trees. Putting Guinevere down behind a sturdy oak, he muttered "stay" and looked around desperately for his men.

They were quicker at escaping the truck than he had been. Keeping down and returning fire, it was only moments before they were by his side, Bors dropping Gawain's unconscious body down with a grunt of relief. Making a quick head -count, he looked around.

"Where's Tris…" He didn't need to answer the question. The battle cry of a burly Saxon bearing down on them with an automatic was abruptly cut off by a bullet that took half his head off. Dropping down from the tree in which he had used for cover, the scout nodded urgently towards the woods.

"Thirty or so coming, and they've got a rocket launcher."

_Wonderful, _Arthur thought with slightly panicky resignation. _That's just what we need. _His men looked at him with fearful, trusting eyes for guidance, and that more than anything steadied him. The forest was an unknown quantity, but staying there was certain death.

"Tristan, Lancelot, you're bringing up the rear - watch our backs. I'm on point, Bors, you're with me. Burgess, you ok carrying Gawain?" The burly weapon's master nodded. "Good. Galahad, you take the girl, Dagonet, the boy is under your charge as of now. We move east, towards Merlin's territory. With luck we might get lucky and find us some reinforcements. Keep your eyes open and if anyone tells you to "get down" do it without hesitation. Got it?"

"Wait, where's Sunny?" Galahad looked around in confusion, and knowing that he himself couldn't afford to think of his dead friend now, Arthur let his training overcome his emotions.

"Sunny's dead. So are we if faff around here any longer - let's go."

There were murmurs of assent, and hefting Gawain over his shoulder, Burgess watched as Lucan went willingly to the big Samartian's side.

"I'm alright." Turning, Arthur was surprised to see Guinevere get shakily to her feet, brushing away Galahad's offer of help. There was a trickle of blood running down her forehead, and she winced as though she had the mother of all headaches, but when she looked at the Commander her eyes were clear and direct. "I know the way to my father's camp. They won't dare follow us there."

Arthur hesitated for the briefest moment, but the loud bang as something exploded just beyond the trees made his mind up.

"How far?"

"Probably an hour if we hussle," she replied quickly. "Provided they haven't moved too far."

"Well then, let's go."

Guinevere paused quickly to liberate Gawain's pistol from his belt and moved to the front of the party.

"He's not going to be using it," she retorted when Lancelot raised an eyebrow at her. "I will."

Setting off at a brisk walk that nonetheless wasn't too fast for Burgess and his burden, Arthur watched Guinevere's eyes flick to the sky and then the trees before taking a narrow deer trail through the denser part of the forest. Relying on her to be the pathfinder, he scanned their surroundings, well aware that every so often either Tristan or Lancelot let off a volley of rounds. The pathway was small and well covered, and having fallen prey to the scout's deadly shooting it appeared that the Saxons had either fallen back or were going to try and come at them from another direction. That they had given up altogether seemed far too much to hope for. As the trees grew closer together and the foliage blocked out more and more light, the temperature lowered and each small sound seemed amplified. After barely stopping himself from responding to the rustle of a squirrel with lethal force, Arthur started to understand why Merlin kept himself and his followers tucked away in the woodland. Not only did it provide excellent cover but there was something very unnerving about the quiet, expectant silence.

"This place is freaky as hell," Galahad murmured as though he had read his commanders thoughts.

"Didn't know you were dendrophobic Gal," Lancelot whispered back, not taking his eyes from the receding path.

"What sort of kinky shit is that?" the youngest Samartian hissed back, almost tripping over a tree root. "I'm not a pervert."

"Jesus, it's like being stuck in the forest with Beavis and Butthead," muttered Burgess, grunting as he shifted Gawain's not inconsiderable weight. Opening his mouth to tell his men to shut the hell up, Arthur was surprised when Guinevere drifted closer to him, matching him step for step.

Giving him a sly, coquettish smile that was totally at odds with her words, she spoke softly.

"Look at me and don't look back. There's two Saxons following us on the right and three on the left. Just ahead there's a clearing - that's where they'll get a clean shot."

_Shit. _Arthur knew better than to look around or start barking out orders. The undergrowth gave them a measure of protection, but it also kept them tightly hemmed in. Panicking the Saxons into making a hasty move would make them less effective but also remove whatever complacency they might have been lulled into by not having been seen. Guinevere solved his dilemma before he could reply.

"Bors with you on the left, Galahad with me on the right," she said softly. "Keep going." With a cry she abruptly fell to the ground clutching her ankle. Both Bors and Galahad had to stop dead to avoid trampling her, and as they picked the young women up, Arthur listened with a mixture of indignation and reluctant admiration as she let his two soldiers know what was happening without any of the others catching on to her stunt.

Limping conspicuously (and totally fraudulently) Arthur thought darkly, Guinevere caught up with him, only the faintest hint of a smile giving away the fact that she was rather enjoying out foxing him. There was no time to be complacent however. There was no tell tale click of safety catches being unlocked as neither Bors nor Galahad had kept their guns primed, but with instincts born of battle, Arthur felt the two men tense, their breathing quick and shallow. Ahead the clearing dappled the pathway with deceptively welcoming golden light, and Arthur felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Down!" he shouted to the men behind him and leapt sideways, rolling onto the leaf litter and hearing Bors do the same behind him. A ginger haired Saxon stood only four feet away, half out of exiting his vantage spot, and Castus took him down with a bullet to the head before the man had a chance to raise his weapon. The heavy report of Bors' s rifle almost deafened him, but Arthur forgave the Samartian when a youngish looking man fell from his perch in the trees, his rifle sliding away harmlessly. Another man came barrelling out of the undergrowth screaming with rage and letting loose a volley of bullets that spat up leaf litter bare inches from Castus's face, but with the icy calm that came from over a decade of experience, he rolled away and ended the threat with a couple of well placed bullets.

Glancing over, he saw Guinevere getting to her feet and brushing off her baggy combats in a manner that was almost prissy and wholly at odds with their situation. Galahad looked a bit too wild and bright eyed for Arthur's liking, but the pair had done their job well. Two bodies lay sprawled a few feet away, the heap of limbs rendering the Saxons genderless, ageless and almost inhuman.

"Alright?" He asked them. "Don't drop your guard." Getting to his feet, he felt a flicker of pride when he saw the defensive positions his men had automatically dropped to. Lucan and Gawain were shielded by the others, their guns at the ready. As a unit they were already functioning as one entity and unquestionably following orders under fire.

"Good one lads, " he said seriously. "Five down, god knows how many to go. Stay alert and let's get going."

"You can have goldilocks, Bors," Burgess sighed, stretching his back with a wince inducing crack. "Do us a favour and put the boy on a diet when we get back, Castus."

Bors took Gawain's unconscious weight after Dagonet had checked his vital signs. Hefting the younger man up, he gave Guinevere a wink. "Can't you give him a kiss girl and wake up sleeping beauty? "

"If he's goldilocks then porridge would be better, "Guinevere said without turning around.

"When you lot have quite finished, some of us would quite like to get out of this forest before the next apocalypse happens," Lancelot said acidly.

"Wrong time of the month?" Guinevere asked with glance back and an arch of her eyebrow. Scanning the forest confidently, she stepped forward a few paces before looking back. "Come on then."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heading further into the woods, Arthur kept his guard up and listened intently to both the sound of the men behind him and the softer rustle of the wildlife in the undergrowth. Despite the fact that it had been at least half an hour since they had foiled the Saxon ambush, there had been no further sightings of the wild looking men. Their tracks must be easy to follow, and Arthur wondered uneasily why retribution hadn't been swift - the Saxons did, after all, outnumber them at least five to one. _No, _Arthur mentally recalibrated. _More like six or seven now that Sunny was a charred corp…_

_Gone. _He thought firmly. _To be mourned later._

Guinevere glanced at him as though she had caught his thoughts, but her expression was unreadable.

The Samartians were silent, as the adrenaline had receded a little so the men started to feel the numerous bruises and abrasions caused from the crash. Dagonet's face was pale, his obviously broken arm cradled to his chest, and with a brief wrench in his chest that could have been pity or compassion, Arthur glanced back and saw Lucan hook his good hand into the big man's belt in an attempt to guide him around the tree roots. Gawain was still unconscious which didn't bode well, although Bors met his brief questioning glance with a look that suggested that if anyone implied he was tiring under the weight he'd knock their block off.

Abruptly, Guinevere stopped. Cocking her head like a doe listening for a far off hunter, the myriad of emotions that flickered in her eyes made Arthur close his hand around the hilt of his pistol automatically.

"It's ok," she said softly, and the smile she gave him was as radiant as a spring sunrise. "We're home."

"Home?" The word came out before he had time to think about his answer. Before them a large clearing opened up into a tiny world of sunlight dappled leaves, the canopy sending an almost perfect circle of sunlight into the centre of the glade.

Glancing back to the Sarmatians, Guinevere instinctively made to give an order before remembering that she was not with her own people.

"Would you tell them to put their guns down please?" She asked Arthur politely. " My people won't hurt them, but I don't want any accidents."

Arthur noted her words but did not take his eyes off the ring of people that stood barely hidden in the shadows.

"You give your word that my men will not be harmed?"

Guinevere nodded solemnly, but her eyes burned with longing and joy.

"On my life, I promise."

"Put down your weapons," Castus ordered. A couple of men protested, but when he himself dropped his rifle and pistol the others soon followed suit.

There was a rustle of whispers that swept through the clearing like an eddy of dried leaves, and like a wraith Merlin moved out of the shadows and into the circle of sunlight. His white hair and beard glowed gold in the light, his shrewd eyes chips of blue fire.

"You are welcome here, Arthur Castus and the brave men who follow him," he said gravely. There was no need for him to raise his voice; even the forest seemed to freeze so as to better hear his words.

"Daughter." He held out a hand and Guinevere raced across the distance between them, throwing herself into her father's arms, obviously unmindful of any pain. Merlin dipped his head and kissed his daughter's hair, supporting her weight when it seemed she might crumple against him. Lifting tear bright eyes, he met Arthur's gaze, and the Commander felt something shudder within him that had nothing to do with exhaustion, grief or adrenaline.

_As you kept your promise, so I shall keep mine. _The words echoed in his mind, and, although Merlin's lips did not move and although he could not have explained it, Arthur suddenly felt like a boy who had carelessly cast a stone, only to see it trigger an avalanche.

_Too late now._ Whatever he had started, the knowledge that it would be he who finished it was as certain as night and day.

**A/N: Sorry this took absolutely ages - stupid life, stupid computer (actually pretty new computer that so far hasn't crashed and deleted half my files like some machines I could mention).**

**Thank you very much lovely reading and reviewing people - feedback always makes my day. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to get up *touch wood for luck* **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Arthur, are you sure that we weren't better off with the Saxons?"

Lancelot eyed Merlin's followers with unease. They were a strange lot; some of them as unkempt as the Saxons, some of them dressed in jeans and sweaters. A teenaged girl in combat boots, ripped tights and a punk rock t-shirt held hands with a small boy clutching a battered Sponge Bob SquarePants toy. They all looked calm and somehow expectant, and not at all afraid of the well armed soldiers who had entered their sanctuary. _Creepy, _he thought to himself.

Arthur chose to ignore his brother. Merlin had wanted Guinevere and they had delivered her to him. Of course now the job was done it was conceivable that Merlin would decide that he and his men were of no further use to him, but he didn't think so. From the corner of his eye he saw Zara Taduz make her halting way down to the clearing, her dark, gypsy eyes bright in her wrinkled face. Tristan muttered something in a language he didn't understand, but it barely registered. He had the strangest feeling that he was meant to be here - that this had all been planned out a long time ago.

"You and your men are welcome here, Commander Castus," Merlin said quietly. "As you have kept your promise, so I will keep mine."

_Right. What was it? "Put me on the path I was destined to tread." Nothing at all vague about that, _Arthur thought to himself. _With any luck it was a path that led back to base and towards a nice warm bath - well a lukewarm shower at any rate. _

"Our transport has been (_blown all to shit) _destroyed," Castus said carefully. "Will you shelter us for the night?"

Merlin nodded. "You and your men are welcome here." Eyeing Bors who had shifted Gawain's bulk around so that it looked like he was now wearing an ill-fitting blond wig, he nodded towards a large wooden shelter. "We have healers who will tend your wounded." As though on cue, two middle aged women emerged from the lean -to and with a cry of joy, Lucan rocketed towards them and was almost smothered by the women's embraces.

"Sarah, Sacha," Merlin called, "We've got at least two casualties. Take care of it."

The taller of the two blondes nodded and approached Bors warily. With a hesitant smile, she gestured for him to follow her, and with a brief look at Arthur who nodded his consent, Bors took Gawain off to whatever passed as a hospital in the makeshift camp. The shorter woman smiled at Dagonet and touched his uninjured arm. With a look at his Commander, who nodded his assent, the big ex-squaddie followed her, the fine boned woman looking almost ridiculously tiny next to him.

"I'm going with them," Galahad muttered, taking a step forward, only to be grabbed by Lancelot.

"We need you here," the older man said softly. "You can play nursemaid when we're sure this lot aren't going to shove us all in a wicker statue and set light to us."

"Yeah, well I can't see Nicholas Cage around so I think we're ok," Galahad retorted.

"Nicholas Cage?" Burgess let out an irritated sigh. "What is it with you kids and shitty remakes of the classics? Britt Ekland's tits alone in the original…"

"Pack it in," Castus said between clenched teeth. "I want you all alert and on your best behaviour."

The Samartians fell silent, and Arthur was relieved that when Merlin gestured them over to the fire his men sat down and ate the proffered cooked rabbit and flat bread without making any smart arsed comments. The men who were obviously warriors and looked at Merlin as though he were mad at inviting these heavily armed strangers into their midst muttered amongst themselves, but kept quiet, and for that Arthur was grateful.

Lancelot gave him a couple of _what the fuck are we doing here? _looks, but all the men, him included, seemed to settle down a little when Bors and Dagonet joined them. Dags's arm was wrapped in a makeshift but secure looking splint, and Bors's nose although swollen, had obviously been tended to. Gawain had woken up but was concussed enough to warrant being kept horizontal since every time he sat up he threw up. Arthur sympathised. Concussion was a bitch, and having Galahad perched at the end of his bed like some sort of bratty guardian angel probably wasn't the nicest way to return to the land of the living.

Sipping home brewed beer from a chipped cup, Arthur was uncomfortably aware of the way Merlin's people watched him with naked curiosity. Merlin himself had disappeared off somewhere with Guinevere, and in a way he was rather relieved. The old man was probably as mad as a box of frogs, but the whole "chosen" rubbish he and the old woman spouted was strangely unnerving. Leaning back against the tree he had settled himself beside, Castus wondered how anyone managed to maintain faith in anything at all given the state of the world. Lancelot gave a snorting snore from a few metres away and Arthur stifled a grin. Alright maybe serendipity had brought he and his brother back together, but if it was the work of some random deity then he or she had a really twisted sense of humour.

* * *

The fire had died down, Arthur's men were asleep bar those he had posted on look-out, and the camp was almost silent before the blonde woman approached him. _Either Sarah or Sacha, _he thought to himself. _One of the women Lucan knew._

He'd broken all of his rules and wandered a little from the camp. His Glock was reassuringly heavy by his hip, but he still felt a little guilty and exposed at being discovered in the hollow of the great Sycamore tree.

"Sir.." she sounded nervous, and in the darkness looked younger than she had in the evening light. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but your hair, it's got blood in it and it's not my place to say but you might want to wash it off and so if you like I got you some water."

She had to take a sharp inhale of breath after the rush of words, and very nearly upended the bucket of water she was carrying into his lap when Arthur got to his feet.

"Thank-you". Taking the bucket from her before any more of the water ended up on the forest floor, or worse, his boots, Arthur gave her a reassuring smile which was wholly lost since she wouldn't look at him.

"Are you Sacha or Sarah? Lucan told me and my lot about you."

"I'm Sacha." For a moment she seemed to sway, caught between emotions Arthur couldn't begin to fathom. "Thank-you. Thank-you for bringing him home to us." She gave a half curtsey which was ridiculous and yet strangely elegant, before turning away and scrambling up the slope back to the camp.

Arthur stripped off his shirt, debated whether to ditch the combats and decided not to. If they were ambushed by Saxons he'd rather not fight clad only in his boots and boxers. The water was cold, almost painfully so, and after washing the grime and sweat from his skin, he tipped the bucket over his head and dropped his forearms on his knees, gasping from the shock of it. Running his hand though his hair, he ignored the drops of pinkish water that stained the leaves beneath him. _Bits of Sunny, _he thought . _Was it the Aztecs who believed that if you consumed someone's brain you got their knowledge or was that the Maoris? Did it count if you just got it splattered all over you?_ Tucking his head between his legs he allowed himself a brief moment to collect himself. His men were depending on him to see them through this and he had to get a serious grip on things if they were going to get back to base alive.

The soft touch of cloth on his neck brought him crashing back to reality, and yanking his knife from his boot, Arthur swung it backwards, only barely halting the momentum when he saw who was behind him.

Guinevere watched him with unblinking brown eyes. The knife was a hairs breath from her neck, but she didn't step back.

"You'll get a chill if you don't dry off," she said quietly. "May I?" She lifted the threadbare towel held in her uninjured hand, dropping the bag she held beside them.

Arthur nodded. Such an innocent act - her slim fingers rubbing through his curls, stroking the towel over his back, her breath warm against his skin as she leant forward to complete the job. He did not dare look back at her as his blood ignited , and he leant forward to hide the evidence of his arousal.

_For fucks sake, she's only been out of a torture chamber a couple of days,_ he berated himself fiercely. _What kind of a man are you?_

"Here." A worn black sweater was dangled in front of him. "Your shirt is a bit.." Guinevere paused for a moment. "Well it stinks and is covered in blood. Jess'll give it a wash and you can have it back afterwards."

"Thanks." Tugging it over his head, Arthur watched as the young woman sat down next to him. She'd ditched the ill fitting clothes the nurses at the base had found for her, and was dressed in black cammos and a fleece jacket. While worn and baggier than they should be, Guinevere looked a lot more confident in what were obviously her own clothes.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she said after a long moments silence.

"Yeah." Not particularly eloquent given the education he'd been given, but he was too tired to either give some trite "_yeah, he was a great bloke, Sunny", _speech or recite the whole "_he died doing his duty" _bullshit that he'd recited at the brief funerals for far too many of his men.

Guinevere didn't push him. Fishing about in her pocket, she unearthed a very squashed Mars bar. Carefully cutting it in half with the knife secreted in her boot, she gave the largest part to the man beside her.

"Got it off a Saxon soldier I killed a few months ago. Surprised none of the kids nicked it out my stuff after I was caught." Peeling off the black wrapper, she held it up as though it were a shot glass.

"To Sunny," she said solemnly. "May he rest in peace."

Arthur found himself giving a baffled bark of a laugh; Simon would have loved this, paltry honour though it was, but he followed the younger woman's example.

"To Sunny. May he piss the angels off in heaven and be at rest." Taking a bite of the chocolate, he savoured the sweetness as it coated his tongue and slid down his throat.

Guinevere smiled at him, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes.

"You're not one for questions, are you?"

"Should I be? I have no interest in your camp. In the morning my men and I will go back to base and if your father is a man of his word then we will count your lot as allies."

Guinevere looked at him with consternation, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth, and suddenly aware of the heat of her beside him and the flush upon her cheeks, Arthur fought the urge to move away from her.

"It's not going to be that simple," she said quietly. "My father promised to stand by you, not whatever military rules you are chained to. Zara foresaw you; you are meant to lead not follow."

"I already lead, Guinevere. There are six Samartians and an arse of a weapons expert I've got to keep in line incase you hadn't noticed." Whatever adrenaline that had been keeping him alert was almost gone, and feeling as though his limbs were made of lead, Castus resisted the urge to just flop backwards onto the forest floor, prickly branches and officer decorum be damned.

The dark haired girl gave him a look that was wholly unreadable before rummaging in her bag and pulling out a fairly clean blanket.

"You should get some sleep," she said quietly. "Your men are resting and your scout is on guard. One of our men will take over from him in an hour or so."

Guinevere's eyes were downcast as she shook the blanket out, and feeling like a total shit, Arthur reached out and touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She lifted her eyes and met his, and although wholly inappropriate he wondered if she would sleep next to him if he asked. _Just so that he knew that she was safe,_ he told himself firmly.

"I didn't mean to offend you - it's been a long day."

She gave a quick half smile and paused before getting to her feet.

"You didn't offend me." Reaching out, she touched his cheek briefly before hurrying back to the camp without looking back.

* * *

If he closed his eyes it could almost have been home.

There was noise behind him, but it was happy stuff; conversation, banter, happy clappy - let's all get to know each other crap. The thought of going back to camp and joining in made Tristan feel as though there were ants trapped beneath his skin. Kicking a booted foot forward, he focussed on the forest instead. It was cold, dark and the closest thing to peace he had found in a long time.

The leaf litter smelt like autumn. He'd always liked the season - the colours, the wood smoke from the bonfires, the shiver of the forest as she cast off her leaves and stretched bare branches towards the orange sunsets. And the coming home, that was the best. Kicking off his boots and shedding his coat, the smell of fresh bread and…

A crunch of branches had him lifting his rifle within a split second, a bare fraction of an ounce on the trigger between life and death for whatever it was that approached. A doe picked its way daintily from the bracken, freezing suddenly as though she knew that she was being watched. _The camp could probably use the meat,_ Tristan thought dispassionately. _Probably shouldn't waste the opportunity. _Raising his rifle he took aim. The doe lifted her head and looked at him. The graceful curve of her neck, the wide eyes and wary delicacy triggered memories that slammed into his mind without mercy. _Sweet brown eyes sleepy limbs in rumpled sheets graceful fingers running through his hair and oh Tris my Tristan. _Smacking the butt of his rifle against a tree, he watched the deer bound away.

Breathing hard, the rustle of leaves behind him made him tense, but he had expected this particular visitor, and almost smiled. Placing the gun in his lap, he did not turn around. His back prickled with tension, but he knew the cadence of the steps behind him and who was approaching him.

"No need to worry, boy." Zara Taduz's voice was scratchy but not unkind. "You have nothing to fear from an old woman like me."

_Not true,_ Tristan thought, holding still. His father had been a Romany of the old blood, and he knew better than most the power and the magic of the gypsies. Zara was seriously old school - he'd known it the moment he'd laid eyes upon her. She also was anything but some sweet little granny. The woman was dangerous.

"Oh come now," Zara sounded amused. "You of all people should know that you are a guest here. I won't take anything that you aren't willing to give."

The wind skittered through the trees, scooping up the dried leaves into a tiny tornado. Tristan concentrated on that and not the old woman behind him.

"Too soon?" she whispered. "Come to me when you are ready."

Tristan did not so much as turn his head in her direction, and barely heard Zara's departing words.

"I hear your Isolde sometimes, she is still with you. Listen to the wind."

Biting down on his bottom lip, Tristan welcomed the copper tang of blood as it flooded his mouth. Tensing his muscles until they hurt, he turned his attention to the forest, lifted his rifle and waited for something to kill.

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter - sorry this one was so late in coming.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me. **

**Warning: there is a (not explicit) description of a sexual assault in this chapter.**

The camp at the Wall was quiet for once, and Alice savoured every silent moment of it. True, the lack of conversation wasn't entirely welcome - Castus and his men hadn't returned yet, nor had their escort, but it probably wasn't anything to worry about, she reasoned. The forest wasn't exactly small, and from what little she knew about Merlin's followers they weren't easy to find. Perched on the flat roof of the servants quarters out of sight, and hopefully out of mind, she watched first hint of the sunrise turn the eastern sky an improbably beautiful violet and amber gold.

_Almost the same colour as that Samartian's hair had been, _she thought idly. _Gawain. _She let herself indulge in a quick little daydream about she and the handsome soldier in a world that hadn't gone to hell, where he wasn't a convict and both of them had a shot at a decent future, and almost laughed. _That's what a world without chick flicks and romance novels will do_, she chided herself. _God, what she wouldn't give for a trashy Mills and Boon book and a tub of chocolate ice cream…_

Alice tucked her hands between her knees, partly to keep them warm, and partly because the urge to paint was almost a physical itch. _Trust her luck that the one thing that she was best at in the old world was something that was wholly useless in the new one._ Art school graduates were right up there with ballerinas and socialites when it came to usefulness now. _Perhaps she should have taken that iron sculpture class - at least the welding aspect might have come in handy…_

Her musing was interrupted by the muffled sound of someone banging on a door down below. It was too early for Christine to be waking the kitchen staff and too late for any drunken soldiers attempting to try their luck with the serving girls, so curious, Alice peered down the hatch she had clambered through, and almost fell through it in shock.

Kate was shivering in the corridor, half naked and covered in blood. Hanging on to the door frame, she was rapping on Alice's door with a staccato beat that seemed to be more a result of shivering than any rational intent.

Scrabbling down the rope ladder, Alice hurried over to her friend and grabbed her arm. For once finding her keys quickly, she unlocked the door and shoved her friend inside before anyone woke up and tried to get involved.

"Kate?" The blonde stared at her blankly, and trying to remember what a two day course with the St. Johns ambulance had taught her at school almost a decade ago, Alice pushed her friend back onto her cot gently and tried to asses the situation.

_Ok. Was Kate breathing? Yup. Really fast. But that must mean that her heart was beating as well so strike two for the whole Respiritory, ressucitation… No, that was wrong. Cardio, respiratory.. Fuck it._

"Kate?" Alice said loudly, forcing the older girl's head around so that they met eye to eye. "What the hell happened?"

Kate giggled rather crazily, and with concern Alice noted that although her friend was covered in blood and her left eye was swelling up, there didn't seem to be any actual wounds that would account for the amount of gore that drenched what was left of her ripped shirt.

"Kate?" she said more softly. "Come on sweetie, let's get you cleaned up."

The blonde dropped her head , her hair swaying in a tangled veil before her eyes.

"I'm sorry Al. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to I swear."

"Ok, it's ok." Talking quiet nonsense words, Alice hooked her ankle around the small bedside table and dragged it closer. Retrieving the water glass upon it, she did her best to mop her friend up with a pillowcase. Beneath the blood Kate's face was far paler than the stained cotton, and with a lurch of nausea, Alice realised that it wasn't just blood she was swabbing away but what looked like bone chips and lumps of … She pushed that thought away swiftly and fought down the bile that rose in her throat.

"Kate," she said quietly, "what have you done?"

"I didn't mean to." The tears rolled down her cheeks, and Kate gave a hitching sob. "I kept asking him to stop and he wouldn't. He kept laughing and he just kept going, and he was in me, and in my head and there was this glass thing on his desk so I hit him with it, and I just kept hitting him until I couldn't see him anymore. His head.. It was all…"

"Alright. You're ok." Alice felt the beginnings of panic even as she did her best to comfort her friend. Stroking the blonde's hair she had a feeling that she already knew the answer to her next question.

"Who was it ? Who attacked you?"

Kate lifted bloodshot eyes and wiped her nose with a trembling hand.

"Germanius. I've just killed General Germanius."

_Oh Shit. _

Alice continued cleaning her friend up while her mind raced for a way to get them out of this mess. There wasn't one. It wouldn't matter why Kate had killed the General - she'd be put to death, and that would be after the soldiers had been offered a go at her. She herself was now bloodied and sheltering the murderer, and so she'd probably be under suspicion too. They had to get away from the camp, and they had to do it as soon as possible. Chucking a clean pair of jeans and a sweater at her friend, Alice shoved her few belongs into a battered bag. She couldn't take the risk of raiding the kitchen for provisions, so they'd just have to hope they found food on the run.

" Alice?" Kate had calmed down a bit and looked a lot better now she was dressed in clean clothes. "What are you doing?"

"_We _are making a run for it," Alice said with a confidence she did not feel. Grabbing Kate's hand, she peeked out of the door and hurried down the blessedly empty corridor, half dragging her friend behind her.

"_Alice", _Kate hissed. "This isn't your problem - where the hell are we supposed to go?"The dark haired girl shrugged. "Only one place _to_ go. Can't stay here, won't survive on our own. We're going to have to find Merlin." Racing out into the dawn, they headed for the refugee camps where the fence was less heavily guarded, and that was when the first bomb went off.

* * *

"I could get used to this," Bors said with satisfaction, dropping a rabbit bone onto his plate. "What do you reckon Dag? Sod the General and stay out here like Robin Hood and his merry men? Living with nature and all that."

"Freezing in the winter, getting blown up by Saxons…" Galahad intoned. Grimacing with distaste he put his plate down on the forest floor and chucked a bit of dried bracken onto the fire. "Where the hell is Castus? he's been holed up with Merlin for hours now."

"Twenty minutes actually," Gawain said looking at his watch. "You'll have to forgive Gal's mood boys, it's the dead bunny. He still cries at Watership Down."

"I do not," the younger man snapped.

Gawain smiled beatifically and started to hum the opening notes to Bright Eyes.

"Is it a kind of shadow.." Lancelot sang softly, looking with mock sadness at the remains of their lunch.

"Moving over the river.." Burgess joined in, waving a bone like a baton.

"Briight Eyyees, Burning like fiiire!" Bors sang lustily, startling one of the children sat nearby so much that she fell backwards off the log she'd been perched upon.

"Bors," Tristan said quietly. "If you would like to make yourself a target for every Saxon in a ten mile radius, do us all a favour and don't do it in camp."

"Trust you to be a killjoy, Tris" Bors retorted without rancour. "It's been oh, almost a day since you've slaughtered anybody - getting twitchy?"

The scout didn't dignify the enquiry with a response, instead returning his attention to the rifle he was cleaning.

"Sir?" Sarah ,the pretty, middle aged nurse approached the group of Samartians warily and nodded to Dagonet. "Could I check your splint if you aren't too busy?"

Dagonet smiled and got to his feet, following the petite woman to the medical tent and deliberately ignoring his cousin's smirk.

"At least someone might be getting lucky," Lancelot remarked idly. "If that woman blushed any more around Dag her head might explode."

"Not just Dagonet," Galahad said with a grin. "Castus and Merlin's daughter were looking cosy this morning. What do you reckon, Lance - she your brother's type?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Dunno. I only met a couple of his girlfriends and they were all a bit twin set and pearls, "no sex please we're British" types." Unaware that the rest of the group had fallen silent he carried on regardless. " Guinevere seems the feisty sort - she could probably teach him something other than the missionary position."

"I imagine I could teach you a few tricks too," the female voice behind him said icily. "However I assure you that you'll never get the chance to find out."

Turning his head, Lancelot smiled weakly at Guinevere who was flanked by Merlin and Arthur, both of whom looked as though they'd quite happily toss him out as Saxon bait if the chance arose.

Hurriedly looking away, he met the eyes of Galahad who sported the gleeful expression of a small child on Christmas morning, and felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Arthur Castus shook his head in irritation before addressing his soldiers.

"Right lads, we're moving out. We go back the way we came and Merlin and some of his men will be coming with us. Usual drill; stay alert and don't let your guard down. Tristan I want you going on point with a couple of Merlin's scouts. Recon only, no engaging the enemy unless you have no choice, understood?" Tristan's face was wholly unreadable, but he nodded, and Arthur figured that was about as good an answer he was going to get. "Since we've got no vehicles it's going to be a long walk, so make sure that you get supplies from Cathy over by the caravan before we leave. Burgess, you're in charge of checking everyone's ammo - let me know what we need and Merlin will try and supply it.

Any questions?"

The Samartians kept quiet for once and Arthur wondered whether that was a good thing or not. Half a dozen Samartian soldiers plus a dozen of Merlin's men, who were an entirely unknown quantity, dumped into a forest filled with Saxons and forced to play nice with General Germanius…

Resisting the urge to pinch his nose in an attempt to offset the beginning of a headache, Castus felt very much like the proverbial farmer stuck with a fox, a chicken and a bag of grain and lumbered with the task of getting all three across a river safely. Only in this case the foxes had automatic weapons and the other side of the bank wasn't any safer than the one they were vacating.

"Relax." Guinevere patted his arm and gave him a smile. "It'll be alright, you'll see."

_Yeah, _Arthur thought. _We'll see. _Hooking a battered map out of his back pocket, he sat down to double check their route.

* * *

_They had been walking for miles_, Arthur thought to himself, _and making good time_. So why was it that as the time passed without incident he grew more and more uneasy? Tristan and a couple of Merlin's scouts came back every so often with updates, but they had seen no sign of any Saxons, nor evidence that would suggest a trap or an ambush. Arthur had listened to the taciturn northerner and noted the disquiet in the man's strange amber eyes. The scout was obviously thinking the same thing he was: the Saxons had kicked their arses the day before, and even if they had anticipated the Samartian unit joining up with Merlin, they had to know that the soldiers wouldn't stay there forever. Why abandon a site where they had decent cover, a superior knowledge of the terrain and would be perfectly poised to get the drop on anyone coming out of the forest?

"Doesn't seem right does it?" Guinevere said softly from beside him, and not for the first time Castus wondered if she was a mind-reader - she certainly seemed to read him without any difficulty. "They usually back off when it comes to the forest, but to bugger off completely and not even leave a few scouts? It doesn't make sense."

"Unless the scouts missed something." Arthur didn't really believe it, but the alternative was worse.

"You don't believe that." Guinevere's cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes bright, and Arthur wished like hell she hadn't come with them. The camp wasn't the safest place in the world, but he didn't like to think of Germanius taking a fancy to her. _Perhaps she could stay in his quarters, _he thought. _And he could sleep on the floor. Definitely on the floor. Or in the bathroom. Or the corridor._

"Arthur?" Bors tapped him on the shoulder, and Castus turned to see Tristan loping down the hill that sheltered the valley they were traversing. The scout looked grim as he approached his commander.

"Arthur?" Merlin moved to intercept him, but Tristan ignored the older man. "We're going to need a change of plan. The Saxons have been busy."

There was a muffled boom from far away, and Arthur felt his heart sink. "The Wall?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah." Tristan looked back to where Merlin's scouts were hurrying back to the group. "They've been busy. The whole place is in flames. They've got four fucking tanks and god knows how many men - this isn't just a small unit - it's an entire army."

Arthur looked at Merlin's grim face. Go forward, fight in the hope any civilians could be saved, or go back to camp and wait for the battle to come to them. Either way they were royally screwed.

**A/N: Thanks everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter - very much appreciated. Sorry for yet another cliff hanger - blame the evil plot bunny; I'm obviously completely blameless.**

**Apologies to Richard Adams and Art Garfunkel (although call me crazy but I would like to hear Ray Winstone cover "Bright Eyes").**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

In the end it wasn't much of a choice at all. The high ranking officials at the Wall might be wankers, but by and large the soldiers under their command were decent people, and that was before the innocent refugees were taken into consideration. Glancing at his men and noting their grim determination, Arthur had the feeling that even if he had ordered the Samartians to fall back they wouldn't have listened to him anyway.

"Merlin?" The old man met his eyes and nodded in unspoken agreement. "Best to split up. Your lot circle around the west side, mine'll take the east. We're going to have to take the tanks out so…"

"Leave that to me." Merlin beckoned towards a middle aged Chinese man. "Han? We've got a few tanks that need taking care of. "

"Destroyed or disabled?" There was barely a flicker of interest in the man's dark eyes, and Arthur resisted the urge to smile. When it came to dispassionate in the face of danger, Merlin's man could give Tristan a run for his money.

"Destroyed." Merlin looked at Arthur who nodded in assent. They couldn't risk the tanks being used against them, and since none of their crew knew how to drive them, they wouldn't be much use if they were salvaged.

"Done." Han eyed the Samartians thoughtfully. "I'll need cover to get close enough to do my job though."

"That won't be a problem," Arthur replied. His men stood shoulder to shoulder behind him, Merlin's group equally poised for combat, and Castus almost smiled. _Some getting to know you bonding session,_ he thought to himself. _At least at the end of this they'd all know where they stood with each other - provided any of them lived through it, of course. _

"Right then boys and girls," he stated with a lot more confidence than he felt. "Here's how we're going to do this…."

* * *

He and the Saxon that had jumped him had been fighting for about three minutes, Lancelot reckoned. Seemed a lot longer, but the hands on his now muddy watch hadn't moved much. The dead man beside him twitched before finally falling still, and the Lancelot pulled his knife from the corpse with a grimace. His shirt was sticky with both blood and mud, his fingers slick upon the gun in his hand and he wiped them against his cammos before looking around.

Three out of the four tanks that had attacked The Wall were smoking ruins, the last one protected by half a dozen Saxons who were now far more on the defensive than the attack. Arthur, the rest of the Samartians and the soldiers that were still left, were putting a pretty decisive smack-down on the Saxons swarming the refugee camp, and from the looks of things Merlin's boys were cutting down the ones who were trying to escape with a lot more skill than he would have given them credit for. Several buildings were ablaze and the air was filled with smoke and the echoes of gunfire.

Glancing towards the north gate, he could see the refugees fleeing - Merlin and Guinevere guiding them through to the relative safety of the forest while picking off Saxons with unerring accuracy. Guinevere looked over and yelled something at him, but her words were lost amid the noise.

_Shit, got to get back to the others - no more breaking rank, _he thought woozily.

A bullet slammed into Lancelot's thigh, knocking him sideways. Hands and knees deep in the mud, dizzy and shocked, he lifted his head and fumbled for his gun. The muzzle flashes from either side were blinding, but he caught the glint of dull metal and reached out towards his knife. Behind him he was dimly aware of heavy boots splashing closer, and chancing a glance backwards he barely had time to register the snarl on the Saxon's face before rolling away. Grabbing his knife from the puddle beside him, he slammed it into his attackers face.

The Saxon fell on top of him, dirty brown hair veiling Lancelot's face, blood, warm and sticky running down the both of them and mixing with the mud.

The hand that dragged him upwards and back against the wall was heaven sent, even though the face of his rescuer was far from angelic.

Bors put a round into the already very dead Saxon, pulled a field dressing from his pocket and shoved it onto Lancelot's leg.

"Are you hit anywhere else?" He demanded.

Lancelot shook his head "no". Pain and shock were beginning to register, and when Bors half dragged him to the shelter of a ruined building, it was all he could do to stay conscious.

"Going to throw up?" Bors's broad shoulders blocked the light, but his eyes reflected the glow of the fires and were easy to read. When the younger man shook his head, the big Samartian patted him on the shoulder in an almost paternal fashion. "Right then. Stay put for a minute."

The noise upon the roof had them both reaching for their guns, but as the patter upon the corrugated iron turned into persistent drumming, Bors gave a rueful laugh as the bright glow of the burning tanks fizzled under the sudden downpour.

"Probably should have packed my brolly." Checking his rifle and flicking his shirt collar up protectively, the big man gave Lancelot a quick smile.

"Tris is covering that pyromaniac of Merlin's; 'spect he wouldn't mind a bit of extra cover." Bors nodded towards the charred remains of one of the Saxon's tanks. Tristan was crouched beside one of the tire treads picking off the enemy as though they were ducks on a shooting gallery. Beside him Han was doing god knows what with a backpack. "Got enough ammo?"

Lancelot nodded. His leg was killing him, but adrenaline was keeping him fairly alert and he felled the Saxon edging around the corner of their shelter before Bors had time to look around.

"Get going," he said tightly. " And watch my brother's back."

Bors nodded and jogged out of sight. A few minutes later the earth shook as the remaining tank exploded. Through the smoke it was impossible to differentiate between the faint shadows of running figures, and when Tristan flitted through the doorway it was only the scout's quick reflexes that had him grab Lancelot's wrist and deflect the bullet that was fired at him.

"Got enough people trying to kill us out there," the older man said calmly. "Keep the bullets for the enemy."

"Sorry." Lancelot lowered his gun when Tristan let go of him. "How are we doing?"

"Better than you," Tristan said distractedly. "Everyone's still in one piece as far as I know, which is more than can be said for the Saxons."

"Arthur?"

Tristan undid his belt and wrapped it around the field dressing Bors had put on Lancelot's leg, pulling it tight and ignoring the muffled curse of his patient.

"Breathe through it," he said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Your brother's fine. Look."

Lancelot watched as Arthur stalked through the smoke and put a bullet into a twitching Saxon's head without looking down. Hair dripping, hazel eyes dark, he swept his eyes across the battlefield and tilted his head towards Merlin's men. They obeyed without question. Checking for survivors, their movements sure despite the mud, the rain and the blood, they moved with the sureness that the Samartians that flanked their leader did

_Galahad and Gawain, Bors and Dagonet. Burgess beside them wielding something that looked a lot like a bazooka_. _That's what knowing the code to the super secret underground weapons cache'll do, _Lancelot thought. _You get first dibs at the really kick ass weapons. _All of them in one piece as far as he could tell.

Lancelot rested his head against what had once been the armoury and watched his brother make his way towards what was left of the refugee camp. His leg burned with pain, but he couldn't take his eyes from his brother. Backlit against the fire with his rifle in his hand , a pile of dead Saxons at his feet and a group of refugees watching him with panicky awe, his brother looked like something from a cheesy action film.

Except this time there wasn't a remote control to pause the scene and the blood soaking through his combats was real.

"What's going on Tris?" he whispered quietly. "All that stuff about Arthur being chosen - is that what this is?"

Tristan didn't say anything for a long moment, and Lancelot had given up on him answering, when the scout finally spoke up.

"Do you believe in destiny?"

Now _that _was unexpected.

"I don't know," he said carefully. "What are we talking about? The whole horoscope "you will meet someone tall dark and handsome" thing?"

Tristan raised an eyebrow, and Lancelot gave a weary chuckle.

"Ha, ha," he said wearily. "You're not my type. That Zara woman thinks my brother is something special. How are you reading this?"

"Not for me to say." Tristan's eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to the battleground, "but I grew up with gypsies and I've got a healthy respect for those of the old blood."

"Not just all tarot cards and crystal balls?"

"Nope." Tristan got to his feet and gave Lancelot a pat on the shoulder. "Looks like the show's almost over. I'll let Arthur know where you are."

"Great." Lancelot watched Tristan lope off through the smoke and shifted himself more comfortably against the wall. The gunfire had ceased, and the few Saxons that were left alive were being held at gunpoint by a group of Merlin's men. Guinevere walked over to Arthur and touched him on the arm before saying something to him, and Lancelot felt a giddy sense of unreality as she turned her head, dark hair lifting in the wind.

"Nice job Arthur, try topping this on your second date," he murmured to himself.

* * *

"Oh, holy crap," Kate whispered.

The first bombs that had gone off had hit the barracks and at least two more had landed in the refugee camp. People had screamed from far away, the civilians apparently getting the hell away out the north of the enclosure, the soldiers regrouping as best they could only to come under fire almost immediately.

Pinned down in a shallow trench halfway between the fence and the fort, Kate and Alice had flattened themselves against the grass, kept their heads down and tried to make themselves as small as possible.

A hundred years or half an hour later, the tank that had crashed through the fence near them was now a bonfire, and Alice had the queasy feeling that it was burnt flesh as well as burnt tank she was smelling. Tentatively looking over the top of their hiding place, she scanned what she could see of the camp.

Apparently the Saxons had misjudged their target. The tanks were destroyed and several dishevelled looking men were exchanging words with some soldiers that she vaguely recognised. Beyond them a man walked across to the group and Alice felt her heart lurch.

_Gawain. And if Gawain was here then Arthur must be here and… Shit._ Glancing at Kate, her friend's dark eyes reflected her fear. There were still a lot of soldiers out there and even though Arthur seemed nice, their position remained the same. If General Germanius hadn't been missing before, he sure as hell would have been by now. Arthur was the highest ranking officer at the Wall now, and he wasn't likely to look kindly upon whoever had bashed his predecessor's head in with a novelty paperweight.

"Come on," Kate said quietly, as though she had read her mind. "Running away isn't going to do any good." Getting to her feet, the brunette brushed the dirt off her knees and held out a hand to help her friend up.

Together they walked hand in hand past the ruins of the fence and the bodies upon the grass. Most of the refugees seemed to have fled, but a few remained, standing quietly with the soldiers, waiting and watching as what was left of the barracks burned around them. Alice did a quick head count when she saw the small group of Samartian soldiers by the northern entrance and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding when she found none of them missing. Dagonet had his arm in a sling and Lancelot was propped up on the ground with a bandage around his leg, but they looked mostly in one piece.

And that was more than could be said for the Saxons, although there were a hell of a lot of people she knew that seemed to be missing from the crowd.

"Alice!" The greeting made her jump, and turning, Alice couldn't help smiling as Burgess jogged towards her. "I've been looking for you. Me and your boy." He nodded towards Gawain.

"My…" The words registered and she shook her head in denial. "Er no. I mean… Bigger things happening here. Can we have a word with Arthur?"

"Arthur?" Burgess glanced at her and then to Kate. His smile faded and he half raised his hand to Kate's arm before lowering it. "This got anything to do with what I found in Germanius's study?"The blonde nodded and didn't meet the older man's eyes. The words came out in a rush of panic, guilt and fake bravado. Squaring her shoulders, she met Burgess's eyes.

"I killed him. It was me. Alice had nothing to do with it."

"_Kate?" _Alice hissed. Flat out admission of murder was not the best way to play this.

"It's ok," Kate said quietly.

Alice hardly knew the gunsmith, but when she saw the sorrow in his eyes any protests she had were silenced.

"Looked like a Saxon got into Germanius's office and killed the general to me," Burgess said. He touched Kate's face with a tenderness that was almost paternal. "From what I've heard the bastard had it coming, too."

"I don't want you to get into trouble.." Kate said quietly. Alice's fingers were being crushed in a death grip by her friend's, but she gave a small smile when Burgess addressed his next words to her.

"Looks like both you girls could do with some coffee and a sit down. The kitchen's still standing - why don't you get the water boiling and let me sort everything out?" Turning away, he barely paused when Kate darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Less kissing, more cooking", love, he said without looking back. "Commander Castus has dumped a few dozen of Merlin's followers on us, and they'll probably be wanting baked squirrel or badger for their tea."

"They'll probably have to settle for whatever-survived-tank surprise" Alice murmured. "Come on," she said to Kate, taking her hand. "We can't do anything out here really - might as well see if we can get some food on for tonight. That lot won't feed themselves."

"Yeah." Kate glanced over at the flattened fence that had once protected the camp from intruders and the bodies that littered the grass beside it, before following her friend into what was left of the barracks. Funny. The old adage was true; an army was lead by its stomach, but looking at the chaos of what used to be a pin-neat kitchen, Kate really hoped that it wasn't a particularly fussy one.

* * *

**A/N:**

**buznut1 has "bagssed" Sunny - there you go, may you treat him kinder than I did ;). Thanks very much spygirl kind reviewing person that I can't reply to.**

**Cheers everyone who has been reading/reviewing - always appreciated. Sorry for the wait, I hit a total brick wall when it came to writing this chapter.**

"**Brolly". British slang for an umbrella.**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**_

_**(there's a little bit of smut in this chapter - if that's not your thing or you are underage then PM me and I'll send you a pg version of the chapter).**_

It took almost an hour for Kate and Alice to sort out the kitchen to be workable enough that they could actually get any sort of cooking going on. Two saucepans had been flattened to the extent that they now served as frying pans, and the days of Germanius's dinner parties with the posh china were now over since it was all in a pile of mosaic sized pieces under what had once been a cupboard_. Of course Germanius's days of doing anything were over anyway,_ Alice thought with a shiver. Looking over at Kate, she watched the older girl opening cans of tomatoes and noted her pallor.

"Kate?" she asked gently. "You ok?"

Kate looked up, her eyes over bright, her smile brittle. "Fine. Alive. Better than most of the poor bastards in the refugee camp anyway. Is the mince defrosted yet?"

"No." Alice gave the big greyish lump of meat a dispirited poke with a fork. "Trust the Saxons to aim straight at the microwave. Now _that's _evil."

"Might as well get the soup out first then". Putting on the oven gloves, Kate waited for Alice to take the other side of the soup tureen, and together they made their awkward way into the dining hall.

Hoisting the tureen onto a table and starting to ladle out soup into bowls, Alice flicked her gaze over the dining hall. She'd always found it a bit intimidating before. Several hundred bored and hungry soldiers eying her up as though she was the main course wasn't exactly reassuring, and there had been times when she had been genuinely afraid while serving them. It was strange then , that seeing the room half empty was worse.

Forty or so soldiers sat at the back of the room, their faces pale, their eyes shellshocked. They took the food she offered without comment or innuendo, as did the fifty six refugees that had been brought inside. Most of the camp had been obliterated by the Saxon tanks which meant that there were a couple of hundred bodies out there awaiting burial, not to mention at least three dozen soldiers that had lost their lives fighting.

Dolloping a ladleful of soup into a china cup - they'd long since run out of bowls- Alice flinched violently when someone put their hand around her wrist.

"Alice? It's ok." The low voice was familiar, and wiping her soup smeared hand on her skirt, Alice met Gawain's bright blue eyes.

"Yeah." Letting out a tremulous breath, she gave the blond soldier a wobbly smile. "I'm glad that.." _you aren't dead? Not crucified by Saxons? _Her mind went blank and she gave a hopeless shrug.

He didn't take offence.

"I'm glad that you're ok too."

"I'm glad that you're… glad." God, she must be tired, Alice thought to herself. Even for her this conversation was turning into the dictionary definition of awkward. Holding out the dainty china cup, she watched as Gawain hooked a large, work roughened finger through the handle.

"The barracks are still in one piece from what Tristan says. There's a couple of spare rooms at the back if you and Kate want to relocate. I and the others," he nodded towards the table where the Samartians were seated, "will keep an eye out for you."

Seeing only affectionate concern in the blonde's face, Alice smiled.

"I'm not sure. I always wanted a skylight, and since my quarters now don't have a roof, it looks like Santa's come early."

"He's also brought you an ensuite shower," Gawain said with a smile, nodding towards the ceiling where the rain was still drumming steadily on the aluminium sheeting that covered the room. "Might not want to sleep in it though."

"Point taken." Alice grinned when Burgess nudged Gawain aside.

"More serving, less flirting," the gunsmith declared, helping himself to a mug of soup. "We've got to get rid of the Saxons before you two start thinking about re-populating Britain."

"Burgess!" Alice's cheeks flushed crimson, and Gawain looked embarrassed, but Burgess took no notice.

"Goldilocks is right though, " he said, taking a sip of soup. " Grab Kate when you're done here and bunk up with Arthur's lot. You'll be safe there, and that's more than can be said for the rest of this place. That lot," he nodded towards the soldiers, "haven't got anyone in charge any more, and if someone doesn't step up to the plate then they'll be as much of a threat to you girls as the Saxons."

"Great." Alice kept her voice light, but felt a shiver run down her spine. The soldiers had been hard to control even when their commanders had been alive. Without, they were definitely not to be trusted.

"Sorted then, " Burgess said brusquely. "After dinner Gawain and I will escort you to our boudoir of concrete and old underpants, and you and Kate can bring your fragrant feminine selves over and bring some class to the place.

Trying not to look at Gawain's affronted expression, and biting her lip to keep from laughing, Alice merely nodded. Ladling the last of the soup into what had once been a dog bowl belonging to one of the lieutenants, she handed it over to one of the soldiers.

"I reckon he's got a point." Kate's voice sounded stronger than it had only a few hours before, and Alice nodded.

"Safety in numbers, and Castus's lot seem a lot better than most. 'sides I don't fancy sleeping in a puddle tonight."

Kate gave a Mona Lisa smile. "Not when there are comfier beds, and handsome blonds to warm them," she said innocently. Collecting up a tray full of dishes, she sauntered back to the kitchen, a hint of her old sassiness in the sway of her hips.

Unable to think of a suitable retort, Alice looked over to the table where the Samartians were sat. Fulcinia was supposed to be serving, but she'd fallen asleep on the table, a blanket found from who knows where tossed over her shoulders. From the way the big man, Dagonet, had her tucked against him, he was probably the one to have salvaged it. Tired as she herself was, Alice didn't begrudge the older woman her rest. She still bore the bruises of her abuse at the hands of Marius, and from what she had heard from the refugees, had worked hard to help all she could. Bors seemed quiet for once, as did Galahad, and Tristan looked around as though he felt her eyes upon him, gave something that might have been a faint smile, and then turned back to his food.

Arthur and Lancelot however seemed to barely notice what they were consuming, and it was with curiosity that she watched the brothers excuse themselves from the table and head towards the stairway.

* * *

The sun had gone down several hours ago, but the emergency generators had kicked in, and the fort was flooded with bright, artificial light. Several small fires still smouldered in the area that had been the refugee camp, but since they showed no signs of spreading and water was at a premium, the embers merely glowed malevolently, turning the people who were trying to scavenge what they could from the ruined tents into eerie Halloween like silhouettes.

Arthur held onto his brother's arm, helping him limp up the stairs and out into the cold night air. Settling Lancelot down onto one of the lookout benches, Arthur walked a little further into the darkness, eyes searching for any danger. A figure, barely more than a wraith made it's way towards him, but Arthur dropped his hand from his gun almost before he touched it, recognising the woman before him. Guinevere walked over from the parameter fence, dark hair falling around her face, her fingers cold when she fell into step beside him and took his hand, warming her fingers between his.

"It's freezing out here," she said, with a hint of embarrassment. "I forgot my gloves."

"It is." Arthur looked at the dark shadows of her lashes on her pale cheeks and resisted the urge to kiss the top of her head. "Have you been allocated quarters for tonight?"

"Yeah." She let go of his hand when someone called her name from the darkness. " My room's just down the corridor from you , so you can sleep safely anyway. I'll keep an eye on you all." She gave a half smile. "I don't expect I'll be sleeping much, so I might as well stay on guard duty."

"You won't do anyone any good falling asleep and freezing to death." Slipping off his jacket, Arthur placed it over Guinevere's shoulders. The weathered garment was far too big for her, but she smiled and tucked her arms into the overlong sleeves.

"Thanks. I'll…"

Merlin's voice carried well as he called for his daughter once again, and with a quick squeeze to his hand, Guinevere left Arthur and slid back into the shadows.

"What do you reckon then? " Lancelot asked as his brother settled himself down with a grunt on the bench just outside the food hall. His leg ached like hell, but the couple of oxycontin one of the few surviving nurses had given him took the edge off the pain and made everything pleasantly muzzy. The little tryst between Arthur and Guinevere made him smile, and although he wouldn't have minded a pretty girl of his own to warm his bed, he didn't begrudge his brother a little happiness. "How long before they come back?"

Arthur breathed out and studied the wreckage of the fort. Unscrewing his hip flask, he passed his brother the strong coffee which was almost the only thing keeping him going. The air was thick with smoke and burning rubber. Beneath it was a tangier smell - that of burning flesh, but he pushed the image aside. Everyone living was inside, everyone who could have been helped had been, by the admittedly inadequate medical personnel. They were sitting ducks, and he hadn't needed Merlin's not so subtle lecture earlier to point that out. In the faint light he could see Merlin's men and some of the Wall's soldiers wiring up what was left of the boundary fence with chicken wire and IUD's. The small explosives wouldn't be much use against tanks, but they'd take down a decent sized car and make a hell of a racket if the border was breached.

"They'll need at least a couple of days to regroup," Arthur said quietly. "Today wasn't a victory for either side. They'll need to reorganize just as we will."

"Awesome." Lancelot tilted his head back against the wall and squinted at the stars, just visible through the smoke. "'can't wait to do this all again. Next time you can get shot and I'll get the girl."

"I don't have a girl," Arthur retorted wearily, "and next time you can attempt to follow orders so that you don't end up with Bors having to save your sorry ass."

"Look Arthur, I'm your younger brother. " Lancelot downed what was left of the coffee and fixed his brother with a steely glare. "I fuck up, you sort me out, and on occasion I try and shag your girlfriends. I'd fight to the end of the world with you but you're fucking terrible when it comes to women."

"You tried to shag my girlfriend? Which one?" Arthur ran a hand through his hair . "Incase you hadn't noticed, we're facing the end of the world. I've got bigger things on my mind."

"Noticed it fine," Lancelot retorted, nodding towards Guinevere who had broken off from the small group of Merlin's men and was fixing something to the fence. "Would quite like it if at least one of us got their end away before we all die though. Guinevere's pretty , she obviously likes you. "Want me to Lock you two in a room together or something? None of us have time to play it safe anymore."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Arthur murmured.

"Fuck chivalry," Lancelot retorted. "If she looked at me the way she looks at you I'd be in bed with her, not freezing my arse off and watching her from twenty yards away."

Arthur was saved having to think up a suitable retort by Dagonet. The big ex squaddie approached them with his usual quiet confidence, and Arthur found himself smiling. Of all the people that could have interrupted what was quickly turning into an embarrassingly personal conversation, Dagonet was probably the most welcome.

"Sir?" Dagonet's eyes flashed silver in the light of the torches. "I don't mean to interrupt, but the rest of us were worried."

"No offence taken." Arthur got to his feet, stretched and held out a hand to help Lancelot up. "Take him back down to the mess hall, I've got something I have to do here."

"I was shot in the leg, not the brain," Lancelot groused. " I can actually hear what you're saying."

"Good for you. Dagonet?" Arthur gave a half smile as the big man half picked up his brother and led him back to the other men. "I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

Without waiting for an answer he crossed the grass towards the fence. Without his coat the wind cut easily through the cotton of his shirt, and soggy grass squished beneath his combat boots. Arthur barely noticed however. Guinevere gave a last whack with her hammer to the fence post she had set down before turning towards him.

"Come to help?" she asked with a smile.

"I thought I'd show you to your quarters," Arthur replied. "If there's anything you need then we might as well get it sorted out now."

Guinevere paused for a moment, her eyes gleaming almost golden in the half light. With a smile she nodded and walked towards Arthur, slipping a small hand in his own.

"Alright." She matched him step for step as they climbed the hill to the miraculously intact barracks. Pushing open the door, Arthur was unsurprised and strangely reassured to see that the building had retained it's pea green paintwork throughout the corridor and the general mien of quiet dilapidation. Somehow such familiarity was almost comforting, even if it was as ugly as sin.

"Your room is at the end here." Walking to the end of the corridor, he pushed open the last door on the left. The room was as basic as all the others, but the bed was freshly made and someone had had the foresight to leave a large bowl of water, a bar of soap and a towel by the sink.

"Luxury." Guinevere's smile showed genuine pleasure. Walking around the room she plopped down on the bed and bounced a couple of times. "I'd forgotten what a proper mattress felt like."

"A bit different from what you're used to in the forest?" Arthur smiled at her obvious enthusiasm.

"Just slightly." Guinevere gave him a smile so artless and beautiful that it made his chest constrict. "Where do you sleep?" Cocking her head in mock rebuke when he hesitated, she slid off the bed and padded into the corridor. "I should know, shouldn't I? Incase there's trouble."

"Alright." It was only a few steps to find the door to his new quarters, but Arthur felt his mouth go dry when Guinevere pushed open the door to his room. Sliding his coat off her shoulders she sat upon the big, if somewhat saggy bed and watched him with eyes that seemed far older than her years. "What? Don't you want to?" Arthur stood frozen, at a loss as to what to say. He'd never wanted anyone more, and he'd never been so utterly at a loss as to what to do.

That's not why I brought you here," Arthur said, his throat suddenly dry. "You don't owe me anything."

"You don't have to." Guinevere stepped daintily around the bed and undid the ties of the tatty curtains at either side of the window. "Be chivalrous and all that." Tugging the curtains shut, she undid the ragged hair band that kept the hair out of her eyes and stripped herself of her clothing.

"I'm not.. Untouched. When I was down in there in the dark with them…. I'll understand if you don't want to. But we're probably going to die soon and… I thought… "

Willowy, frightened and trembling, her hair lit from the faint light through the curtains, Guinevere looked terrified and beautiful. "I'd like to know what it would be like if I had a choice. I might not get another chance."

Arthur froze for a moment before stepping back and locking the door behind him. Putting the key on the dresser, he pushed it slightly towards her.

"That's yours," Arthur said quietly. "You say if you want out, you say when to stop."

Guinevere gave a nervous giggle. "This was going to be a seduction scene. I'm not doing too well am I? Crossing her arms over her small breasts, she dropped her head and reached for her clothes.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot.."

"No." Arthur took two steps towards her, placed a hand on her shoulder and ran it gently down her arm. "You're human."

God she was beautiful, wide eyed and wary, but given what Marius must have put her through then Guinevere was right to be apprehensive. Just the slide of her skin beneath his hand had him harder than he'd ever been, but he shoved his own arousal to the back of his mind and hoped she didn't notice the bulge against her hip . This had to be for her.

Suddenly he seemed to be too big and clumsy and so he tried to slow everything down. Guinevere breathed in when he traced the scars on her ribcage but didn't protest when he gently pushed her over to the bed. He didn't want to scare her, but she didn't seem to be afraid when he ran his fingers over her breasts and belly. When he put his mouth to hers she met him willingly, and when he slid his hand between her legs she found a rhythm all of her own. She came faster than he would have thought, hard and sweet, clenching around his fingers, thighs wrapped around him, fingers digging into in the ragged blanket that had been tossed on the bed.

"Better?" he asked her.

She looked at him with wide dark eyes and put her hand over the one he had two fingers buried within her.

"Different." Her eyes were closing and she seemed too tired to do much but curl up against him. And that was ok. That was all kinds of sweetness. Dragging himself away from her was difficult, but Arthur pushed himself off the bed with wobbly legs and drew the blanket over Guinevere. From outside he could hear Bors yelling something to someone with a Welsh accent, and the faint thunder of rifle fire. _Better than a cold shower to bring a man back to reality _he thought wryly_. _

"Don't you want to…" She looked at him with drowsy dark eyes. "You didn't.." Reaching out, she hooked a finger into the belt loop of his cammos, too shy to touch him more intimately.

Arthur took her hand , kissed the knuckles and released her.

"When this is over," he said quietly. "We'll do it right."

"Ok." Curling onto her side, sleep claimed her swiftly and she neither saw nor heard Arthur exit his quarters and close the door behind him.

**A/N: hope everyone had a happy Christmas and new year.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Kate dragged a hand through her hair and winced as her fingers snagged in the tangled locks. Her reflection peered blurrily at her from the side of the soup tureen, and not for the first time she was thankful for the lack of mirrors in the kitchen and dining hall. For once she had the kitchen to herself, and a small part of her wondered if anyone would miss her if she slipped out the back door and vanished into the forest.

Of course that really wasn't an option. For one thing there wasn't actually anywhere to go, and short of ending up strung up on a telegraph pole by one of the Saxons, making a dash for it wouldn't do any good. And then there was Alice… Sneaking a look around the kitchen door, Kate watched her young friend chatting to the big blond that was part of Commander Castus's troop. They looked relaxed but tired, and something deep within her twisted slightly. Alice had kept her head when she had not, she had looked after her and probably saved her life, even if the timing had been down to random luck more than anything. She couldn't, wouldn't leave her alone. Shivering slightly, she clenched her fists and wondered how much blood was under her fingernails. Germanius had been a bastard, but the idea that she had gone from whore to murderer so quickly made her feel a little dizzy.

"Miss?" the voice behind her was so unexpected that it was only by grabbing the side of the stove that stopped Kate from toppling backwards. Yelping as the hot metal burned her fingers, she stuck them in her mouth and eyed the intruder warily.

Tristan Kelly stood lean and watchful, raising an eyebrow he made no effort to come to her aid, and fed up with being scared Kate found herself irrationally irritated.

"What?" Shoving her burnt hand into her pocket she squared her shoulders. "If you're still hungry then there's bread in there. " She nodded towards the pantry. "Help yourself."

"I'm not hungry." He looked at her appraisingly with those strange amber eyes, and Kate had to fight not to drop her gaze. "I came to give you this." He held out his hand, her watch dangling from one of his long fingers. "You left it on the table out there."

"Right. Okay. Thanks." Taking the cheap timepiece from him quickly, she put it back on her wrist, a little unnerved and playing for time.

"Shame about Germanius," Tristan said quietly. "Head bashed in with a paperweight. Funny how the Saxons didn't just shoot him."

"Oh for the love of…" Kate yanked her watch strap so tight it almost cut off the circulation in her wrist.

Anger made her bold, and a part of her was almost perversely glad that her crime had been found out.

"Go on then, I'm sure your Commander can set up a firing squad. He might even let you have the first shot."

Tristan didn't move, merely watched her.

"Come with me," he said eventually.

"Like hell I will!" Kate spat. "You want me on my back or knees then you're going to have to shoot me first."

"If I wanted you like that woman then there'd be nothing you could do about it," Tristan snarled, almost feral looking with his dark hair falling over his face. "I'm trying to help you."

"Great. I.." Her words were cut off when the Samartian grabbed her by the wrist and almost dragged her down the back stairs. Kicking open a door at the end of the hallway, Kate found herself in one of the few undamaged guest quarters.

"Shower's in here." Tristan tried the tap and put a hand under the flow of water. "You've got blood in your hair and people are going to ask questions. I don't care what you did to Germanius but you're a shitty liar and I'd rather not see you lynched by the soldiers. Go and get clean, I'll see if I can find some clean clothes - I'll leave them on the bed."

Kate watched the lithe man pace around the starkly functional bedroom, totally at a loss.

"Why are you helping me," she said eventually.

He glanced at her briefly before walking to the door.

"Get going, you'll be missed before long."

Kate watched him shut the door before shedding her grubby clothes and stepping under the shower's warm spray. Bowing her head she watched the rusty coloured remnants of Germanius's blood wash down the plughole. The water was almost scorchingly hot - either the boiler hadn't been hit in the Saxon attack or someone had fixed it, she thought blurrily. She stayed under the water untill her fingers wrinkled and the steam was so thick that it rendered the mirrors entirely opaque and the air was hot and thick as soup in her lungs. _Washed from the inside out_, she thought wryly. Cracking the bathroom door open she found the bedroom empty, a small pile of clothing on the bed. It didn't take long to select a vest and sweaterthat looked about her size, the jeans were all a bit big, but with the help of a piece of binder twine that had been holding her trainers together they stayed up alright.

Padding back to the kitchen Kate thought about various ways of thanking Tristan, but when she served out the finally defrosted mince and spaghetti he didn't look at her, and when her chest constricted she wasn't sure whether it was from relief or disappointment.

* * *

"Oh for fucks sake." Freezing cold without his coat, Arthur looked at Burgess and Galahad wearily.

"If you want to go hunting then let me know first - you were two seconds from getting both your heads blown off."

The weapons expert and the youngest of his Samartians looked at him bashfully, the shredded corpse of what might have once been a rabbit dangling between them. Gesturing for the two dozen soldiers that had been alerted by the gunfire to depart, Arthur thought longingly of the beautiful girl curled up in his big warm bed.

"Sorry Arthur." Galahad's words were slightly slurred, and with a sinking feeling Castus remembered the young soldier chatting to some of the other troops and sharing a bottle of whisky.

"But look - fresh meat!"

The dead bunny dangled in Galahad's grip and seemed to give him a baleful look.

"Wonderful," Arthur said dryly. "Burgess?"

Burgess gave a wide and innocent smile. Even from four feet away Arthur could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Commander Castus, sir!"

Suddenly feeling very, very tired, Arthur pointed towards the barracks. "Both of you. Bed. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"Fine." Galahad limped past, still hanging onto his dead rabbit, one arm draped over Burgess's shoulders. "But you should come out with my mate Burgess. Fox hunting's for poofs, real men kill bunnies."

"Sorry Castus sir." Burgess grinned and wiped the blood splatters from his face with his already grubby Motorhead T-shirt. "Just teaching the lad how to shoot. Gotta have fresh meat now and again or we'll all get thickets."

"Rickets?" Shaking his head when Burgess opened his mouth to protest, Arthur waved the two men towards their quarters. "Forget it, I don't care. Go to bed."

Arthur watched them go, waiting to see the two silhouettes disappear into the orange glow of the barracks' security light. Yawning widely, Arthur glanced at the bench by the shower block before rolling his shoulders and walking down the grassy slope towards the perimeter fence. Given how tired he was falling asleep in the open was a real possibility and not a particularly intelligent move. The Kevlar vest he'd slung on before going out chafed beneath his arms, but for once he was glad of the cumbersome weight. Beyond the fence the darkness was deep and impenetrable, for once there wasn't a breeze and through the thin twists of metal that made up the electric fence the trees stood silent and stoic, camouflage for any number of would be snipers.

The fires on the hills had either burnt out or been extinguished, he thought, pacing through the damp grass towards the far end of the compound. Perhaps that was a good thing, but barely brushed by the halogen yellow lights on the fort's wall it made them seem all the more vulnerable and isolated. Winter would be coming soon, and assuming that everyone at Hadrians Wall survived that long then that brought about a whole load of other problems. Reading's base was definitely gone, so was Portsmouth and Southampton, and the radio in the media room hadn't picked up any signals from anywhere else according to the shy, black teenager who had been monitoring transmissions.

_Face it Arthur, you're on your own, _he thought to himself. _Either sit here and wait for the supplies to run out or the Saxons to make another attack, or go on the offensive._ Looking over at the main buildings Commander Castus watched the faint shapes of soldiers and refugees make their way to their quarters or what was left of their makeshift tents and shacks and felt his resolve harden. Hadrians Wall needed a leader, and like it or not he was the most qualified for the job. Running away from his destiny wasn't an option anymore**_._**

_A/N: cheers to everyone who has been reading and favouriting. Extra hugs to my reviewers - always appreciated :) There is a Chosen "wiki" on my profile now that explains who everyone is and their motivations. I know it gets a bit confusing when there are a load of OC's and the story is set in a different time from that of the movie._


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me.**

Morning arrived with a hazy golden light that brightened the colours of the turning leaves and the whisper of frost upon its breath. Sat in his office, the plastic seat familiar and uncomfortable behind his back, his desk strewn with documents that didn't matter any more, Arthur dragged his eyes from the view out of the window and tried to collect his thoughts. There seemed to be a hundred thousand things that he needed to do and precious little resources or perhaps more importantly, time to get them done. Sat upon the windowsill Guinevere tapped her heel rhythmically against the plaster wall. It was annoying, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to tell her to stop. Merlin had gone north with a half dozen of his men to scout out any pockets of survivors and report back on what the Saxons were doing.

Guinevere had argued eloquently against him going, as had half of the people that had followed the old man and were now living just outside the fort at Hadrians Wall. Once Zara Taduz had spoken the elderly man had set off on his mission with everyone's blessing however, and not for the first time Arthur had wondered at the power that the little old gypsy woman wielded.

But then despite her uncanny way of reading his thoughts and calm complacency when what she had seen came to pass, was that really witchcraft or the cold reading fake palm readers used to con their victims out of money? Zara was clever, but her ideas of him leading Britain to … what? Seemed absurd. He was one man trapped in an impossible situation, that was all.

"You shouldn't frown like that." Guinevere tucked her knees under her chin, and smiled at him through the veil of her hair when it slipped loose from the ponytail she'd tried to tuck it into. "If the wind changes your face'll stay like that."

"You'll have to iron it straight then, won't you," Arthur joked.

She gave him a brief smile before looking back out of the window.

" I don't do ironing." shoving the sleeves up from the shirt she had appropriated from his wardrobe, Arthur didn't bother hiding his smile. Just having Guinevere near made him happier than he had been since he could remember, although he wasn't sure why that should be.

The sort of maybe, almost sex between them had been sweet, but the holding back, at least for know had been sweeter. Guinevere trusted him and he trusted her. The acknowledgement was unspoken but all the stronger for the fact. She stayed with him because she wanted to , and he didn't turn her away because he was glad of her company. There was an unspoken agreement that in the future then maybe, hell probably, things would change, but until that time it was like a mutually acknowledged appointment. Something to look forward to when the time was right.

The polite knock on the door was at least a welcome distraction, and calling for the visitor to enter, Arthur smiled as his clerk manoeuvred around the door, a battered looking tray wedged on one of his arms.

"Good morning sir, my lady." Jols's warm brown eyes belied his formal speech. "I thought you might like some breakfast." putting down the tray, Arthur looked with amusement at his morning provisions.

"Last nights spaghetti, a cup of tea and half a twix bar," he noted. "The breakfast of champions."

Jols gave a half smile. " It fulfils all the basic food groups," he said seriously. "Protein, carbohydrates, sugar, vitamins… I'm sorry Miss, I didn't realise that you were here. Would you like me to fetch you something?"

Arthur picked up the Twix bar and offered it to Guinevere. She smiled, slid off her seat by the window and took the biscuit. Breaking it in half, she kissed Arthur on the forehead and touched Jols briefly on the forearm, passing them each the two halves of the chocolate before shutting the door behind her.

Scooping up a forkful of spaghetti, Arthur swallowed it down without trouble; it wasn't the most traditional of early morning meals, but at least it was edible. Putting his fork down, he studied the man who had kept his paperwork in order for the past eight years and considered a friend as well as an employee. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you, Jols. It is a relief to see you unharmed."

"Would it be speaking out of turn to say that it's something of a welcome surprise to see you and your men alive, sir?" Jols replied with a smile. "Given the events of the last couple days you seemed to have done your best to find your place on the Elysian Fields."

Arthur swallowed another mouthful of luke-warm pasta and raised an eyebrow at his clerk. "Greco-Roman mythology, Jols? That's a surprise."

The older man shrugged and looked slightly sheepish. "I had a girlfriend into that stuff when I was a student. Always sounded nicer than the hellfire and damnation the vicar preached."

"And I bet she was a lot prettier than your local minister as well," Arthur said, enjoying the usually unflappable Jols's discomfort.

"Can't deny it, Sir. Her idea of Communion was a lot more fun too." Taking the plate once his Commander had cleared it, he jumped slightly at the sound of raised voices outside before frowning and gathering up the cutlery.

"Jols," Arthur said quietly. " You've been here during battle, you've spoken to people at the Wall of all ranks. My main priority has to be sorting out a defence against the Saxons and getting the soldiers into some semblance of order for at least today, but you listen, you hear things - you see better than anyone in a uniform can what is going on. I need someone I can rely on to prioritise the people's needs - both camp personnel and the refugees. You are wasted here - will you accept the rank of Officer In Charge Of Camp Welfare?

The lean man smiled with surprise and genuine pleasure. "It would be an honour, Sir. When should I start?"

"Immediately." Relieved at Jols's enthusiasm, Arthur opened a drawer in his desk and rummaged through the contents. Finding the box he sought, he pinned his father's Military Cross on Jols's shirt.

"More of a means of identification than a uniform," Arthur said wryly, "but once word gets out about who you are it'll probably save you time and arguments."

Jols fingered the silver cross with nervous fingers. "Sir, I…"

Arthur cut him off with a shake of his head. "The first thing you have to organise is burying the dead. We've got a couple of hundred corpses on open ground and the last thing we need is disease spreading, not to mention what it'll do to morale. Hand pick a dozen soldiers that you trust and send them to me - they'll be under your command once I've de-briefed them. Use as many able bodied men or women from the camp to help and bury them on the south side of the compound so that they are away from the river. Ask around and see if there are any Priests, Rabbis, Clerics or whatever left alive. We'll do a service for the dead as best we can once the burials are complete."

"Yes, Sir." Jols had paled a little at the prospect of the task set ahead of him, and seeing his unease, Arthur spoke more quietly.

"I understand what I am asking of you. If you would rather not then say now and there will be no more said about it."

Jols shook his head, his shoulders squared. "It's a job that needs doing sooner rather than later. I'll get things sorted. When do you want to debrief the troops? I already know who'll be suitable."

"As soon as you've got them together," Arthur said, stifling a smile of pride. He'd always known that his clerk was capable of more than the mundane duties that had been allocated him, but it was still nice to see him step up to his new duties with barely a second thought.

"Understand Jols, we might be the last military outpost left in Britain," Arthur said quietly.

The words, until now only rumours and unspoken fears, hung heavily between them.

"It's not a nice thought, is it sir," Jols said with an attempt at a smile.

Arthur gave a weary huff of a laugh. Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk he pulled out a half full bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a decent slug into his tea. Plucking a shot glass from a shelf holding a random mix of memorabilia, he filled the tacky glass with whisky and slid it across the desk.

Jols picked it up and grimaced when he attempted to down half the contents.

"Never did get the appeal of whisky." Jols rubbed a hand over his nose as though to dislodge the taste and smell from his olfactory nerves.

Arthur gave a tired laugh and ran a hand through his dark curls, wishing he could have at least another twenty hours sleep before he had to start giving out orders that if they failed would probably get people killed. "Count yourself lucky, given the time needed for fermentation, it's going to be a long while before any sort of alcohol is back on the market."

"What's the plan?" At any other time Jols's question would have been an outright challenge and almost unthinkable given the loyalty his clerk had given him over the years. Looking into his friend's solemn eyes, Arthur didn't see any reason to lie.

"If we are on our own, and given that we've had no radio communication from any of the other bases we have to assume that we are, we have to keep as many people as safe as we can as quickly as we can. If you can get rid of the bodies as decently as possible then I can start getting the refugees into the barracks and start sorting out how best we can defend this place. That means fortifying and rebuilding."

"Right then." With a polite nod, Jols opened the door to Arthur's study, paused and looked back at his Commander. "For what it's worth Sir, I'm glad to have you in charge."

Arthur nodded briefly at the compliment, and watching Jols depart wished that he was as certain as everyone else seemed to be regarding the choices he was making.

* * *

Alice yawned widely and debated whether or not to open her eyes. From the banging and clattering outside she reluctantly assumed that it must be morning, and so should probably get up. Blinking in the light that the flimsy curtains did a poor job of shielding, she felt a brief jolt of alarm as she saw a figure come out of the bathroom.

"About time sleepyhead," Kate said wryly, dragging a comb through her damp hair. "What were you up to last night?"

Given all that had happened, Alice actually had to think for a moment. _Dead Germanius, Bombs, Commander Castus's return, cooking, chatting with Gawain…_ And blank. Lifting up her blanket, Alice peered down and was slightly alarmed to find herself clad only in an oversize t-shirt and her knickers. Seeing her friend's blue eyes widen, Kate laughed.

"Don't panic. You fell asleep on one of the dining room tables and Gawain carried you back here. Didn't so much as cop a feel as I saw. I undressed you - and no that doesn't make us civil partners. Thank me later." Tugging on a worn pair of trainers, the blonde gave her friend a grin and opened the door. "I'll get breakfast started, but do everyone a favour and find a brush before you join us."

The slam of the door drowned out Alice's retort, and given that Kate was obviously far more bright eyed and bushy tailed than she was, and had actually managed to undress herself last night, Alice conceded the last word to her friend.

Wandering into the bathroom, Alice winced slightly at her reflection. True the mirror over the sink had been cracked in two by the concussion of the explosives fired last night, but even that couldn't disguise the fact that the dark smudges under her eyes and her wild tangle of dark hair made her look like a witch out of a children's story book, and not the prettyish, unassuming art student that she had been less than a year ago.

Shedding her clothes she took a quick shower, shoved her hair into a ponytail and dressed quickly. There was a pile of clothes in the corner of the room that she didn't recognize, and it took a couple of moments for her to realise that they must have been salvaged from the rubble of what had been her and Kate's quarters before it had been reduced to rubble. A couple of the girls who had shared the barracks had survived and were now busy in the miraculously unharmed medical quarters, but most had perished when a rocket had decimated the building. Picking a pair of combat trousers and a shirt that looked about her size from the pile, Alice tried not to think about who had last worn the clothes she put on. One thing that could definitely be said for the TX zero virus, it put things into perspective, and sentimentality wasn't a luxury anyone could afford.

Walking swiftly down the hallway, the chill of the wind as she stepped outside woke her up better than a hit of double espresso. Maybe two dozen people were walking in a vague formation down towards the south end of the compound, and Alice stopped to watch them for a moment, recognizing Jols, Arthur's clerk and one of the nicest people in the compound leading them. For some reason the sight cheered her a little, although she couldn't have said why, and jogging to the kitchen, she pretended not to notice Kate's martyred sigh as the older girl removed a tray of bread rolls from the oven.

"I thought you'd gotten lost," Kate said, popping another tray load of dough into the oven.

"Sorry." Padding over to the door and taking a quick inventory of the number of men in the mess hall, she turned her attention back to her friend. "Not many here today - anything up."

Kate gave a shrug. "Not like I'd know if there was. Haven't seen Arthur yet or any of Merlin's people - Merlin's daughter came by late last night - Jennifer? Ginny?"

"Guinevere," Alice replied, filling a kettle with water.

"That's right. Her lot are staying outside Hadrians wall; suppose they're used to the whole living in the forest thing, and they make pretty good lookouts. I gave her enough provisions to last them for breakfast and lunch, but we should probably find something big enough to transport dinner for them. I can't imagine them risking a campfire."

"I'll have a look." Alice's attention was caught by the arrival of the Samartian men, Burgess behind them. All the occupants of the hall had plates and cups set before them, and provisions delegated for the refugees had already been doled out, so it was only seven men that now had to be fed. Funny then, that watching Gawain's blond hair gleam gold in the artificial light suddenly made her feel very embarrassed and totally overwhelmed.

"Do you want to serve Castus's men and I'll sort out the washing up?" Alice asked her friend overly brightly. "We've got about a thousand cans of chopped tomatoes and almost as many mixed beans - it wouldn't take me long to sort out a vegetable chilli for Merlin's people while I'm drying up."

Kate had obviously noticed the new arrivals and, Alice thought with a mixture of curiosity and dismay looked no keener than she was at the prospect of serving the men seated at the table only a dozen metres away.

Before either of them had a chance to say any more, there was a soft knock on the kitchen door. Fulcinia entered the room, her dark eyes a little wary, but somehow almost regal even in what had to have been at least a fifth hand down dress.

"I hope you don't mind," she said softly. "I've done all at I can at the hospital, I wondered if you needed a hand."

"Can I see your references?" Alice asked, surprise and relief making her attempt at humour wholly unsuitable.

"Thank-you," Kate said fervently, ushering the beautiful brunette into the kitchen. "Ignore her," she said, glaring at Alice. "What can you do?"

Fulcinia looked up from the pile of pots and pans she had been inspecting. "My parents spent a fortune on three years at finishing school, so if you want to host a dinner party or explain the nuances of Voltaire's work within the context of the Enlightenment then I'm your woman."

At the two younger girls' looks of worried bafflement she gave a genuine smile. "Don't look so worried, everything I ever needed to know I learned from my younger brother - including welding. Picking up the sole microwave that wasn't smashed into smithereens and was mostly intact, if inoperable, Fulcinia smiled. "Find me someone who knows where a blow torch and a decent set of tools are, and I'll have you back up and running before you know it."

"I reckon we could do that." Alice grinned at the new member to their ranks. "I'm Alice, that's Kate," she said, nodding towards her friend. "The kitchen supply unit is under a half tonne of rubble, but there's the emergency supply rooms underground with the weapons. They'll probably have what you're looking for."

"Don't go on your own though," Kate warned. "Is there anyone out there that you trust?" She nodded towards the mess hall and didn't miss the way that Fulcinia's eyes flicked straight to the shaven headed Samartian who sat at the end of the table, seemingly oblivious to the banter exchanged by his younger, more excitable comrades.

_Ah, fuck it, _Kate thought _just because she was acting like a socially awkward teenager when it came to Tristan didn't mean that she couldn't dabble in a little matchmaking_. "Dagonet?" she called. "Can you come over here for a moment?" Every single person in the mess hall turned around to look at her, but ignoring her burning cheeks, Kate kept her eyes upon the big soldier who, although obviously a bit surprised walked over to her without any questions. Giving him a weak smile, Kate was nonetheless uncomfortably aware of the gaze of the man who had been sitting next to the big ex squaddie. Tristan's face was as unreadable as always, the corner of his mouth raising slightly with something that could have been anything from mild curiosity to disdain.

Unnerved and embarrassed, Kate turned her attention to Dagonet who, if he noticed her unease was polite enough not to make an issue out of it.

"Fulcinia needs some tools and stuff from the emergency supply room - it's down next to Burgess's office. Would you mind going with her?"

"Of course. Lead the way my lady." Dagonet gave Fulcinia a smile that transformed his somewhat intimidating appearance, and Kate had to look away quickly from Alice who was watching the pair with an expression most women reserved for fluffy kittens and puppies, so that she wouldn't start giggling.

"Oh they'd be so cute together," Alice said wistfully closing the kitchen door and watching the big man and the slender woman walk towards the west wing of the barracks. "She's all beautiful and damsel in distress-y and he's all huge and sort of sad. They should totally name their first born child after you given you got them together."

"I asked Dagonet to help Fulcinia find a blow torch," Kate retorted, more than a little amused at the younger girls' flight of fantasy. "As epic romances go I've read better."

"You have no soul," Alice said primly. "And don't think that I haven't noticed you looking at that scary Samartian - Tristan isn't it?"

Kate stood up so quickly that she whacked her head on a cupboard door. "I have better things to do than moon after ex-criminals," she said a little too quickly, "And since I distinctly recall you falling asleep on Gawain's shoulder and dribbling on his shirt last night, you are hardly one to pass judgement."

"Well you won't mind that Tristan's coming over here then, will you," Alice snapped. Picking up the tray of bread rolls she marched out of the kitchen, almost running in to a startled soldier as she made her way to the Samartians' table.

Kate watched Tristan cross the room and felt her heart lurch. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, but when he noticed her watching him and met her gaze, she dropped her eyes in a hurry. Given the events of the past year, she was well aware of what she owed the scout for his silence regarding Germanius's murder, and well aware that should he decide to ask for certain "favours" to keep quiet there was no-one she could turn to without putting a rope around her own neck. Turning around, she plunged her arms into the sink, barely noticing the heat of the water.

"'morning". Tristan's voice was low and polite, but Kate pretended to keep her full attention on the already clean plate that she was washing.

"Good morning," she replied politely. "It's nice to see the sun for once isn't it?"

"Wind's coming from the east, should keep clear for the next couple of days." He sounded slightly puzzled, and feeling as though she had a bullseye painted between her shoulder blades, Kate put the plate onto the drying rack with such trembling hands that it was only swift reflexes that stopped it sliding out the plastic grooves and crashing to the floor.

"Kate, are you alright?"

_Not really,_ Kate thought. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and looked at the scout with quiet defiance. "Alright. How do you want to play this? I'd rather get things understood with each other up front so that I know where I stand. How many times a week? I'll do what you want but you leave Alice out of this - what I did was entirely my fault and my responsibility. I'll confess myself before I let anyone touch her."

Kate didn't think the taciturn northerner was capable of surprise, but for once his silence seemed caused by shock rather than his usual monosyllabic habit of speaking.

"I came to get the butter dish re-filled," he said eventually. Holding out the stainless steel cookware, both of them studied it for a moment as though it was an alien life form.

"Oh." Taking it from Tristan, making sure that their fingers did not so much as touch, feeling very, very stupid and having no idea how to explain herself or rectify things between them, Kate put the butter dish in the sink and watched dispiritedly as the remains of the grease floated to the top of the water, coating the dishes that were waiting to be scrubbed.

"This is about Germanius isn't it?" Tristan's voice was quiet and non-judgemental, but Kate couldn't bring herself to look at him, merely nodding and keeping her eyes on the dissipating soap bubbles in the sink. "You think that you have to buy my silence with your body." He sounded angry, and close to tears, Kate bit her lip and didn't move.

She felt him move closer, and tensed, but he made no move to touch her. His voice when it came was low and quiet, and near enough to feel his breath and smell the mixture of soap, gun oil and the washing powder that meant he was wearing a fresh shirt.

"I do not take women by force. I will not take you because of whatever misguided obligation or debt that you think you owe me. You did what you had to in order to survive and the world is better without Germanius's kind. Believe me, I should know. You are willing to fight to keep Alice safe - try and do the same for yourself."

It took a moment for Kate to realise that Tristan was walking away. Bewildered, relieved and not a little shaken, she watched the scout flip the catch on the door and step outside.

"Who was she?" Kate blurted without thinking. "Who did you lose?"

Those strange golden eyes narrowed, and for a moment Kate was certain that she had overstepped the boundaries.

"My wife," Tristan said quietly. "Take care of yourself Kate." Shutting the door behind him, Kate watched his lean figure walk away until he turned a corner and was gone.

**A/N thanks very much to everyone who has been reading, and thanks very much for my kind reviewers - it's a cliché but you do keep us insecure writers going ****J **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me.**

Guinevere tucked her hands between her knees and attempted to avoid the sharp corners of the bricks that were digging into her back. The ruins of what had once been a lookout tower had been easy to clamber up, but as a place to keep an eye on the surroundings, it surely had been more comfortable before it had been reduced to a triangular pile of rubble. The wind was bitter, and she acknowledged the faint smell of wood smoke as coming from her people's camp in the forest a little to the west, the smell of whatever the girls in the kitchen were cooking, and the diesel fumes of the digger that was being used to create what would become a mass grave, without having to look around.

_Funny how noticing the small things about your environment could tell you so much so quickly, _she mused. Even before the TX Zero had made survival skills essential if you didn't want to starve to death or be hunted down by Saxons, her father had made sure that she knew her way around the forests and could fend for herself. Way back then she hadn't thanked Merlin for the many things he had taught her - infact had down right resented him for dragging her around in the company of hippies when what she really longed for was the ideal of being a normal girl with posters of pop stars on her bedroom wall and no cares beyond whether some cute boy in school fancied her or not.

_So much for that dream, and so much for those blissfully unaware girls. Most of them dead from the virus or if the Saxons had gotten hold of them…_ Guinevere shoved that thought from her mind with an effort. She'd seen what happened to innocents when mad men without mercy were let loose upon them and buried their remains when it was safe enough or she and the people she scouted with had time to do so. Turning her attention to the forest, she watched carefully for any signs of people approaching the camp. Her father was out there somewhere, but, she thought ruefully, even she would have a hard time spotting him. Merlin was nothing if not elusive when roaming the woodland. The low buzz of far away conversation abruptly silenced, and turning her head, Guinevere watched as the fifty or so refugees gathered on the grass outside the medical barracks turned their attention to the four men who stood before them.

_Bors. _She recognized the stocky, self assured man instantly, as she did the blond and younger Samartian who stood beside him. It took a moment to remember their names. Gawain and Galahad - that was it. Even as far away from them as she was, Guinevere noted that they looked a bit awkward and out of place, glancing at the taller man who stood in front of them as though waiting for instructions.

_That was ok though too, because hadn't she looked to the very same man to tell her what to do when he had pulled her out of hell and into the light?_

Guinevere watched Arthur say whatever he had to say to the refugees. As far away as she was she couldn't hear the actual words, but from the body language of the rag tag group of people it was clear that it was something rousing or inspirational or both. She smiled to herself, and not for the first time wished that she had someone of her own age to confide in. Zara had told her a long time ago that her future would be linked to the future of Britain, but she had never thought that the elderly woman's prophecy would come in the form of a man with hazel eyes, a sense of loyalty and justice that was almost inconceivable in these dark days. She watched Arthur's hands as he gave out bottles of water and remembered the way that they had touched her. His hands were those of a soldier - calloused and strong.

They had gentled her, calmed her when her seduction attempt had ended up being more awkward and embarrassing than anything remotely sexy. He had given her pleasure that was strange and scary and beautiful and asked nothing in return. Down in the darkness of the dungeon where the guards had grabbed at her breasts and thighs, leaving bruises and the knowledge that if they wanted to take things further there was precious little that she could do about it, she had vowed that if she saw daylight again she would make sure that no man would ever touch her again.

Funny then that she had instigated things, had been bold enough to touch the big commander first. Habit made her bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling, but realising that no one could see her, Guinevere gave herself the luxury of a self satisfied grin. Some things were right and foretold, and she didn't need Zara Taduz's prophecies to know whose company she would seek once she had made sure that her people were fed and as secure as they could be.

* * *

The mess hall was almost deserted when Arthur made his way into the big room. Tired beyond words, he nodded an acceptance when one of the kitchen girls approached him and asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. His men - if he had the energy he might have laughed at that automatic term of ownership for convicts that less than a week ago he would have dismissed as worthless criminals - were busy training the able bodied refugees or helping Burgess sort out the weaponry. For a few moments at least a bit of peace and quiet with the addition of a shot of caffeine seemed like a little piece of heaven.

Of course such peace was not to be. Inwardly rolling his eyes at whatever gods had decided to make him their chew toy in this life time, Arthur made his way over to the dark haired man sipping a mug of tea and looking far more cheerful than someone who had been shot in the leg the day before had any right to be.

"Rallying the troops?"

Lancelot's voice was amused, but lacked the edge of the spiteful comments he had made in earlier days, and so Arthur merely shrugged.

"Just trying to keep them up do date with what's happening. Can't keep people out in the camps - they're sitting ducks for the Saxons and winter's on its way. Sooner we get them inside the better." Rubbing a hand through his hair, Arthur was well aware that he needed a shower and a change of clothing. He almost smiled when his first thought was to ask Jols whether the water was running in his quarters and if his spare uniforms were back from the laundry. For all of his distaste for Marius and Germanius, he himself hadn't exactly shunned the trappings of his station either, Arthur thought ruefully. Guinevere had his last clean shirt, and until he got that off her (and oh, that was an image best kept at the back of his mind when he had work to do), he'd have to make do with what he had in the closet in his office.

"You look like shit, bruv," Lancelot said without malice. "Ever thought about having a wash, or you know a couple of hours sleep?"

"Want me to shoot you in the other leg?" The retort was automatic, but his brother's comment made him smile despite himself. "Some of us have more important things to do than chatting up the kitchen staff."

Lancelot laughed and winked at Alice when she placed a cup of coffee in front of Arthur, in her nervousness managing to spill more than a little of the beverage on the table. After the flustered girl had returned three times, once to bring the milk, then the sugar, then to mop up the milk, sugar and coffee that had spilt upon the table, Lancelot gave an exaggerated sigh and propped his elbows on the table.

"Alas it seems that the kitchen staff are taken. By Gawain and Tristan no less - do your brother a favour; the next time you adopt hardened criminals stay away from the blonde and chivalrous and dark, moody and stabby. - it doesn't give the rest of us a chance with the fairer sex."

"Since when do you need my help in getting women?" Taking another sip of his coffee, Arthur watched the two girls in the kitchen do god knows what with a giant saucepan and a dozen tins of dubious origin. "I thought Tristan kept his affection for the rifle Burgess gave him."

"The rifle's called "Isolde". The nutter names his weapons - ask Galahad, you were very nearly one man short when he picked it up without asking yesterday. But yeah, I've seen the way he looks at Kate, probably best not to try and pick her up either."

Arthur felt a prickle of unease as he watched the slender dark haired girl help the younger blonde prepare what was probably the evening meal.

"Should I be worried?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Well yeah, chances are we're going to get blown up by the Saxons in the near future." Sobering, he met his brother's eyes honestly. "I know what he did, but I can't see him hurting Kate or any of the other girls here. I wouldn't trust Tristan alone with the soldiers or anyone who threatens him for that matter, but before we got here, when we were out there fighting… He's an arrogant psychotic bastard, but as far as I know he's never harmed anyone who threatened him first. He's never so much as looked at the girls we've saved beyond getting them to safety."

"_when we were out there fighting."_

"How bad was it? Before you got here?" Arthur glanced at his brother. Lancelot's calloused yet elegant fingers were tapping a rhythm on the table only a few inches away from where his own hand was wrapped around the empty cup of coffee. _If this was one of those Lifetime movies their mum had watched they'd be hugging and weeping like little girls before spilling all of their secrets by now _, Arthur thought, relieved despite himself when his brother gave him a look of extreme irritation instead.

"It was awesome. Thanks for asking. " Lancelot winced as he shifted his weight off his damaged leg. "Do you want details? I'd rather not share if you don't mind." In the uncharacteristic silence of the mess hall, his words echoed loudly, and Arthur watched his brother almost shrink into himself. Lancelot's voice when it came was surprisingly strong.

"Look. You and me.. I've pretty much hated you since puberty. Maybe before that. You've got this weird thing about following orders - remember Scouts? You went for the sewing badge! Who the hell even does that?" Shaking his head when Arthur made to protest, Lancelot continued. "You were the good boy and I was the fuck up, and do you know how annoying it is that I'm following you because I think that you are doing a good job here, and I trust your judgement? Fuck I can't even call you a pussy any more because I've seen you fight."

_Well that was unexpected. _

"You haven't done so badly yourself, "Arthur retorted. "Junkie to G.I. Joe in twelve months, you should be proud."

Lancelot opened his mouth to come back with a witty comeback, but was silenced by Kate and Alice placing a pot of fresh coffee and two mugs upon the table . Quickly serving out the drinks and distributing the milk, Alice gave the two men a shy smile before following her friend back into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Well. Needs must I guess. That was pretty much the closest thing you'll get for an apology." Lancelot rested his head against his hand and gave his brother a rueful smile. "In other words I'll do what you say so long as it's not suicidal or mental and I'll try not to bitch too much while I'm doing it."

Arthur stifled a smile. "And to think that all it took was a virus wiping out half the population to get your head out of your arse."

"And to finally get you laid," Lancelot retorted.

Both of them laughed at that, although Lancelot felt a little guilty when his brother gulped down the last of his tea and got up from the table. Arthur's eyes were tired and his posture was a little slumped, belying his calm authority. Although little things only noticeable to those who knew him well enough to notice any difference, Lancelot felt an unfamiliar pang of concern.

"Get some sleep alright? Even you can take a break from the heroics for a few hours."

"Might take you up on that. " Rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, Arthur looked wearily towards the training ground that lay beyond the half opened door to the mess hall. He was in charge, he should be out there training refugees, making sure the camp was secure, but after thirty eight hours without sleep his body took charge, and when Guinevere woke him with a kiss the sky was dark and the moon had risen bright as a benediction to welcome Merlin and his men home.

**A/N: I got the idea for Tristan naming his weapons from the tv series "Firefly". If you haven't seen it already then seek it out, it's brilliant (and cancelled - curse you evil tv people). Cheers for reading, and thanks to my reviewers.**


	20. Authors Note

**Hi readers *waves***

**I'm going to be annoying and ask a favour here. **

**I've been writing "Chosen" for a while now, and while I enjoy writing the fic, at the moment I'm getting on average 120 hits to each chapter and three reviews. Given those stats I am definately doing something wrong.**

** please let me know where I've been going wrong if you have a spare moment - It'll help me to do better next time.**

**( I've got the anonymous posting enabled so you don't have to give your name if you don't want to). I would rather try and write something that people hopefully enjoy rather than keep going with something that doesn't work, and since you've made it here then I bet you'd like to read something that you like too! (there are some really good authors on my profile page if you fancy a look). **

**Thanks,**

**Jo (homeric)**


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Merlin and his men returned to the base with as little fuss as they had left it. The sentries barely had time to shout an alarm before the group were at the gates, and more than one soldier who had thought himself alert wondered whether Merlin had somehow managed to materialise back home like something out of Star Trek.

Guinevere, who had been keeping an eye out for her father's return, had raced into his arms as soon they reached the main building before hurrying off to wake Arthur, but, Lancelot noticed as he watched the weary men dump their provision bags on the floor, none of the other men looked particularly happy to be back at the base.

Struggling up from the table where he had been stripping and cleaning his rifle, he limped over to man who looked to be in his early twenties with dreadlocks down to his shoulders. The man was obviously tired, slumping down at a table and looking towards the kitchen hopefully, but like most of Merlin's men he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to knowing when he was being watched. He'd looked round and clocked Lancelot approaching before he was anywhere near him.

"Alright, mate?" Lancelot went for the cheery - we're all blokes together - approach before sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He needn't have bothered trying to ingratiate himself with the young man however. Merlin's soldier gave a grin that showed off a lot of white teeth against his dark skin and nodded respectfully.

"You're one of Arthur's lot, aren't you?" When Lancelot nodded in the affirmative, he held out a hand. "Good to meet you, I'm Alex. Wasn't sure about having a load of Samartian convicts shoved into the mix, but we were bloody glad of you the other day. I mean don't get me wrong - us lot fight like mad bastards, but we're not trained like your boys, and that's what swings things more times than not I reckon."

"I guess so." Lancelot shrugged. In truth he hadn't really thought about it, but then it wasn't exactly a coincidence that since he had arrived at the Wall most of the surviving soldiers were the lucky ones who were led by men who knew what they were doing and made sure that their men did too. _Chalk another thing to be grateful to Arthur for, _Lancelot thought with considerably less irritation than he would have felt a few days ago.

"Do you reckon the boss, Castus I mean, 'll train us?" Something flickered in Alex's eyes and he dropped his gaze. "Judging by what I saw last night, we're going to need all the help we can get."

Seeing Tristan walk through the door, Lancelot waved him over.

"Tristan, Alex." Lancelot introduced the two and stifled a smile when the young soldier gave the scout a smile that looked a lot warier than the one he'd given him. Tristan for his part gave an almost imperceptible nod that presumably meant "hello" and carried on munching the apple that he must have purloined from the kitchens.

"You were saying?" Lancelot prompted.

"Yeah, er right." Alex scrubbed a hand through his dreadlocks. "Like I said, my lot are gonna need more training. Whatever the Saxons have got going on it's some seriously messed up shit, and they are getting way too close to comfort."

"How close?" Tristan's voice was low, but Alex shot him an unnerved look as though he'd shouted at him. Grooving his thumbnail into the weathered surface of the table, it took a moment for him to answer.

"Closest bodies we found were a little over three miles away."

"From Greenhead base?" Lancelot asked. At Alex's nod, he frowned. "That's a hell of a way to go to dump bodies - why bother?"

The younger man gave a laugh wholly devoid of humour. "Oh they're not dumping them. This is like, I don't know, post apocalyptic modern art or something. Remember that guy who got paid like crazy money for chopping a cow in half and they put it in a gallery so everyone could tell him he was the dog's 'nads?"

"Damien Hurst," Lancelot said, remembering being dragged to the aforementioned gallery by a girlfriend. Tristan's slight smirk was more eloquent than a dozen diatribes about spoilt rich kids poncing around art galleries, and suppressing his irritation and a little embarrassment, Lancelot hurried on. "What are they doing?"

"They're making a point," Alex said quietly. "Ramming stakes through the soldiers and leaving them to die in formation. Don't ask me how that military rank stuff goes, but the more coloured stripes on your shirt, the higher up you are, right?" Lancelot nodded. "Yeah well, there's twenty or so dead soldiers stuck out there like puppets all nice and tidy in rank and file. The one in front was a general - recognise the uniform from one of Steven Seagal's films. They had the most fun with him I reckon."

Nauseated, Lancelot looked at Tristan, his stomach doing a slow roll as the scout bit off the last piece of his apple and dropped the core on the table.

"What do you reckon?" He asked when he was sure that he could open his mouth without throwing up.

Tristan shrugged. "Could be that they're just sadistic fucks who like torture."

"But you don't think it is." Tristan was hard to read, but the narrowing of his eyes suggested that something had occurred to him, and whatever it was wasn't good.

"Were there any other bodies there?" the scout asked. "Any of the refugees or non combat staff?"

Alex shook his head. "Not that I saw. Nearer Greenhill, yeah, but not messed about with like that."

"Simple then." Amber eyes flicked over to where a dozen or so off duty soldiers were playing cards. "What's the one thing holding this place together?"

"I don't know." Lancelot shrugged. "Fortifications?"

"Strength in numbers?" Alex offered.

Tristan gave them both an irritated look. "It's belief in an established system. People like to be told what to do - most of them anyway," he added when Lancelot made to protest. "The refugees need food and water and that comes because the soldiers bring it to them. The soldiers need a purpose, orders to keep running as a unit, and that comes because they trust the person in charge to make the right decisions and see the bigger picture. Take out the leader, in this situation Arthur, and you've got chaos, at least until a new leader can be found, and in this case that'd be fucking difficult."

"What's that got to do with what we found in the forest?" Alex asked, perplexed.

"We took out their General and his army, this is what's waiting for you, " Lancelot said sickly.

Tristan nodded. "You're learning. I knew a bloke once, fought in the second world war - used to talk about it after a few pints. Told me about when he was down in Salerno in forty three. He was just a kid then, but he remembered everything clear as a bell. Watched a whole platoon lose it after their sergeant was killed - they just went to pieces, and these were good soldiers mind. The men out there burying the bodies - that's shit work, and it'll haunt them, but it they see what's out there in the forest then that's what'll keep them up at night, and that's what'll make them panic in combat."

Lancelot groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Shifting slightly, he regarded Tristan through a veil of dark curls. "You know, Tris," he said finally. "I've known you what, six, seven months? That's the longest conversation you've had in my company, and I wish to God I hadn't heard it."

Tristan shrugged. "You asked."

"I did." Lancelot brightened, as a thought occurred to him. "At least we've got a bit of an edge that Honorius didn't have. Arthur doesn't go for all that fancy uniform stuff - he's doesn't exactly stick out amongst the other soldiers. The Saxon's probably don't even know who he is."

Alex winced, and Lancelot's enthusiasm vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

"What?"

"There was a note," Alex said reluctantly. "It was pinned on the General's chest. Addressed to Commander Castus."

"Shit," Tristan murmured.

_Yeah,_ Lancelot silently agreed. _That pretty much summed things up didn't it?_

* * *

"Things will turn out as fate wills it so, " Merlin said quietly. Guinevere was walking several steps ahead of him as they headed towards the dinning hall to regroup with the men, but she made no effort to slow down. "Zara has prophesised…"

"Oh fuck Zara's prophecies!" Guinevere snarled, turning as swiftly as a wildcat. "She doesn't know what's going to happen, you don't know what's going to happen, and what gives you the right to pin everything on Arthur like he's some sort of trophy? This is all wrong!"

"So it's "Arthur" now, is it?" Merlin asked mildly. If he had thought that the attempt at humour would calm his daughter down, he was very much mistaken. Fists clenched, eyes blazing, she reminded him of her mother for one brief bittersweet moment. But no, she was blood of his blood, and as such he could see beyond the anger and sense her terror both for himself, her adopted "family", and now Arthur, he thought uneasily.

"You read the letter," she said, close to tears. "You know what they'll do to him, they've got no honour whatever they promise, and you're trying to persuade him to go out there alone!"

Merlin sighed. He hadn't opened the letter they had found in the forest, but he had had a fair idea what the contents would be. Turned out even he had underestimated Saxon. The man himself wanted to meet Castus - both of them unescorted and unarmed in the interests of a "mutual understanding". As a sign of good faith twenty refugees from the Greenhill base would be brought to The Wall within the week with a promise of the release of further hostages if Arthur agreed to the meeting. If he refused, Saxon promised to make a funeral pyre of everyone still left alive at Greenhill not allied to his gangs. _Madness really, _Merlin thought wearily. _The way the letter had been written had been almost polite, but manner of its delivery was an open threat as to what would happen if the Commander did not comply, and Arthur was trapped between two impossible choices._

Castus hadn't shown much emotion after reading it, which was more than he could say for his daughter who had at least had the sense to hold her tongue while in the meeting.

"If they bring the refugees he'll do what Saxon says," Guinevere said a little more quietly. "He's stupid when it comes to honour - if he thinks he'll save the people here or the refugees out there by meeting with that… _man_, he will."

"It is the mark of a compassionate leader," Merlin replied.

"It's the mark of an _idiot!"_ Guinevere said despairingly. "Even if Saxon lets some of the refugees go, there's no reason why he'll set the rest free just because Arthur meets him. And Arthur won't agree to anything Saxon wants so there's no reason why Saxon should keep him alive."

Merlin flexed his fingers wearily. His arthritis was playing up again, and suddenly he felt very old and very tired. "There's more to it than that," he said quietly. "So far all of the military bases have fallen without much of a fight. The battle two days ago gave all of the Saxons something to think about, and they know now that our men have joined forces with the men here at the base. They have to wonder why. I believe Saxon is curious - he wants to know what, or who he's facing."

Guinevere absorbed that piece of information, but even as her mind ran through a dozen different scenarios of how the meeting could go, cold fear kept throwing up one horrible scenario after another. "Tell him not to go," Guinevere said softly. She was one step away from begging, and knowing that even in Honorious's dungeon's she had kept what was left of her pride, Merlin felt his heart clench. "Please father, for me. Promise me you'll tell him not to go."

Merlin reached out and brushed a strand of Guinevere's dark hair from her pale cheek. "Oh daughter mine," he said regretfully. "I'd give you the world, and yet you ask the one promise I can't keep." Kissing her forehead he walked away without another word.

Guinevere watched silently as her father crossed the expanse of tarmac and opened the door to the mess hall. Light from inside flared brightly, as did a muted cacophony of voices, but the door shut and she was alone. In the darkness she could see the lights of the border patrols, the watchtowers stark against the moonlight, and beyond that…the black of the forest that waited malevolently to reclaim this last little outpost of order. Shivering slightly, and not just from the cold, Guinevere tucked her hands around her waist and headed back to the barracks. She glanced at the door to her room briefly, but had no desire to enter, instead she fished the key Arthur had given her from her pocket and unlocked his chamber. _Everything was very neat, _she thought. Books stood orderly as soldiers on the shelves, all his clothes were hidden away in the closet, where they were arranged by colour and occasion. Undressing, she knew that when she reached for the soap and shampoo they would be lined up nice and tidy by the sink. Feeling a little perverse, she draped her bra over the back of his desk chair, and just for good measure dropped the rest of her clothing down without folding it. Showering quickly, she dried off her hair as well as she could before slipping beneath the covers.

The bed seemed very big and the sheets too cool, but the pillows smelled of Arthur, and for the moment it was the only place she could go where she could find some comfort without having to talk to anyone. When he returned hours later, she pretended to be asleep and watched him undress through slitted eyes. He picked up her clothes and carefully put them on the chair, but he smiled at the bra and left it where it was. Sliding into bed, it seemed that he was too wary of waking her to get too close, so she snuggled over to him and let him wrap an arm around her so that she could rest upon his chest. Sleep when it came was deep and mercifully dreamless.

**A/N: First up, thanks to everyone who responded to last chapter's Author's note. To be honest I hated writing it because I didn't want to sound like a whiny little (insert suitable word here). It was very reassuring to know that people are still enjoying the story though - I was honestly thinking of packing it in. Anyway thanks for the feedback and the concrit. As a couple of you pointed out the story has gotten a bit oc romance heavy lately - I'll try and balance things out a bit better in future (hopefully!).**

**On a completely unrelated note, I know some of you have slogged through the insanely long Llynya's Song/Faithless/Fragile trilogy. A very clever person called Symphonia - Angel - Luna asked if she could make some banners for the stories, so if you were curious as to who I had in mind when writing Llynya, Lucy and Rowan the links to the pics are on my profile page.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

It was one of those days that seemed to have gone on forever, Alice thought wearily. Keeping the soldiers and refugees fed was a full time job, and with the addition of Merlin and his men, not to mention the Samartian convicts, she, Kate, and now Fulcinia had been struggling to keep up with the demand for regular meals. It wasn't surprising then that when two dozen refugees from Greenhead base were practically dumped on their doorstop her first instinct had been to panic rather than welcome them.

As usual she and the other women had muddled through - frying up yesterdays leftovers and sorting out what accommodation they could for the shell shocked men women and children who kept their eyes down and only spoke when someone asked them a question. That they had been released by Saxon's men was a surprise, but not an entirely welcome one when she overheard Lancelot discussing the terms of the refugees' liberation with Galahad and Gawain.

Now, with everyone settled as best they could be and Arthur, Lancelot and Tristan discussing God know's what with Merlin and a couple of his men, Alice tried and failed to relax.

"Arthur's really going to do it isn't he?" Gulping down the last of her tea, Alice wasn't sure whether it was the knowledge that Commander Castus seemed hell bent on committing suicide by Saxons or her surroundings that were making her so miserable. Given the amount of decent buildings that had been blown to pieces, it seemed unfair that the Sarmations' barracks with its "leisure room" had remained totally intact despite the fact that the whole building seemed to be held together with peeling paint and cracked linoleum. Nonetheless, she had to acknowledge, the lumpy sofa she sat upon was greatly redeemed by the presence of the blond man who currently sat beside her. "I mean if he does go and meet this Saxon nutcase can't you lot go with him?" She nodded towards the rest of the Samartians who were settled in various degrees of wakefulness around the room. "In disguise I mean."

Galahad yawned and looked towards Bors who was sprawled on a sagging armchair and snoring gently. "No offence Alice, but I don't think it'll make much difference how many branches and stuff you stick on Bors and Dag - they'll still look like bloody big squaddies with bits of tree on their heads. I reckon Saxon might twig to the whole cunning stealth thing." He shot a grin at Gawain. ""twig" - get it?"

Gawain rolled his eyes. "I've told you before Gal. If no-one laughs and you have to explain the joke then stand-up comedy probably isn't for you."

"I thought it was funny." Seeing the potential for an argument and unwilling to see the peace disturbed or Bors and Dagonet awakened, Alice smiled at the young man. "You're probably right - I can't see the whole fake moustache and glasses thing working either. It's just horrible to think of the Commander going out there alone. Especially given some of the stories I've heard about the Saxons."

Galahad exhaled slowly. "Believe me; you haven't heard the half of it. Before we got here we saw…"

"That's in the past," Gawain said sharply. "There's no point in winding everyone up by telling horror stories." Gawain gave Alice's hand a reassuring squeeze, and feeling in need of reassurance and glad of his touch, she didn't let go when he made no move to release her.

"Arthur knows what he's doing," the blond said quietly. "Besides, he won't be going totally alone."

"Tristan's going to back him up." Alice gave a quiet chuckle at the looks Galahad and Gawain shot her. "Oh come on, I wasn't eavesdropping, he's the logical choice. Turn your back on him for two seconds and he's gone - he's like a cross between a ninja and one of those shaggy hunting dogs. I'd want him at my back if I was going to have tea and cupcakes with a mass murderer."

Bors opened one sleepy brown eye. "Alice love," he said drowsily, "do us all a favour and make sure you don't call Tris a ninja shaggy dog any time when he could hear you. I dunno what'd happen but it wouldn't be pretty."

Gawain snorted with laughter, and Alice felt her mood lifting a little.

"I meant a nice shaggy dog," she retorted with mock defensiveness. "A guard dog."

"Yeah, well. Don't pat him on the head, that's all I'm saying." With that Bors snuggled his big body against the side of the chair, and ignoring the creak of the protesting wood seemed to fall asleep almost instantly.

"Bors probably has the right idea." Untangling her fingers from Gawain's, Alice got to her feet and winced as her back protested as she stretched. "We should all get some sleep - tomorrow will probably be a long day."

"As opposed to all the days that are filled with joy and candyfloss," Galahad replied. After smiling at the dark haired girl he shot a mischievous glance at Gawain. "Are you walking her to her room or should I do the honours?"

"'night Gal." Struggling off the saggy sofa, the blond shook his head at his smirking friend and ushered Alice out of the room. The corridor was dark, but the glint of amusement in Alice's eyes was unmistakable.

"What was all that about? If I didn't know better I'd think you were getting territorial."

"Would it bother you if I did?" In the gloom Gawain's voice was low, but his silhouette was familiar and solidly reassuring. Alice paused for moment, torn before what she wanted and all the reasons why answering truthfully would be a bad idea. She'd seen what had happened to Kate when a man had decided to make her his property. At the base there was nowhere to run if things went wrong.

"Kate and Tristan," she said eventually, avoiding the question. "They seem to be… I don't know. Will she be alright with him?"

"Do you think I or any of the others would stand with him if we thought he'd hurt her or any other woman?" Gawain's voice was soft but Alice could hear the hurt in it. "You don't have to worry about him, or any of us. Are you afraid of me?"

"No." Even to her own ears the protest sounded feeble. Tentatively reaching out, Kate reached up and placed a hand on Gawain's shoulder. He didn't move away, and so feeling a little braver she lifted her mouth to him and kissed him gently. His lips were warm, and when she licked at his upper lip he opened his mouth to her and deepened the kiss, sliding a hand around her waist . When she pulled away he let her go, but Alice made no move to leave him.

"I reckon I wouldn't be doing that if I was afraid of you." She fumbled for the key in her pocket and headed towards the door to the room she shared with Kate. "'night Gawain. Thanks for …" she shrugged. " I don't know, being something nice to think about."

The beams of the searchlights illuminating the fence outside shone through the curtains and lit up Gawain's face when Alice opened the door to her room. The smile he gave her was slightly crooked and not a little sad, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Goodnight Alice, and don't worry, whatever happens tomorrow I'll keep you safe."

"Let's just hope that everyone gets out of this in one piece OK? No need to jinx things by thinking the worst." Shutting the door behind her, Alice was careful not to disturb Kate, although it was obvious that her friend was feigning sleep. Slipping out of her clothes and into her bed, she burrowed her head into the musty smelling pillows. "Not a word," she cautioned when her friend rolled over towards her and seemed about to say something. "Let's just go to sleep."

"Good luck with that," Kate murmured. Shoving her blankets back over her shoulders, she returned her gaze to the little patch of light that the too-short curtains failed to mask. The sodium yellow of the windows of the offices across from the barracks were bright in the darkness and within them a half dozen people were making decisions that would affect everyone at the base. She had already packed a bag with provisions and stuffed it under the bed. If the worst came to the worst then she'd have to grab Alice and make a run for it, although whether the younger girl would follow her without the blond Samartian was a complication that she hadn't foreseen. A shadow flickered across the office window, and Kate wondered who it had been. She had heard enough of what was going on to know that Tristan was going with Arthur to meet Saxon and was more than a little afraid of just how much that bothered her. The man was arrogant, controlling and impossible to read, but the idea of him going out into the unknown where he would be at the mercy of men who had shown none kept Kate awake and restless.

You really know how to pick them girl, she thought, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come. Should have joined a nunnery not a military barracks.

* * *

Dawn always came too soon, Arthur thought to himself. Especially when it heralded something that you were dreading. Yawning, he stretched his arms and winced as one of his shoulders cracked painfully.

"Don't suppose you changed your mind while you were asleep."

Guinevere sat next to him on the bed ,blankets pooled around her waist, a sheet tucked under her arms. Beneath the folds of white cotton Arthur could see the outline of her small breasts, and running a hand down her ribcage, he leant forward and kissed her side.

"You're too thin," he said, nuzzling her collarbone. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"For you to stay in bed today." Guinevere giggled despite herself when Arthur nipped her shoulder before pushing him away. " I mean it," she said seriously. "Just.. I don't know. Stay here."

"Saxon kept his word," Arthur pointed out. Kissing Guinevere on the cheek he got out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. "You heard the people - there's still at least eighty refugees still held at Greenhead base. Saxon is offering to let them go if I meet him, how would I live with myself if I didn't try and save them?"

"You'd be alive to live with it," Guinevere muttered. "I could live with that." Wrapping the sheet around herself she followed him into the bathroom and perched on the side of the bath. Watching as Arthur scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and rummaged in the drawer beneath the sink for his shaving equipment, she took the razor from his hand and gestured for him to sit down on the toilet seat.

"I used to do this for my dad," she explained, lathering up the soap and coating Arthur's face and chin. "I quite like you with stubble but your troops might have a heart attack if you turn up looking anything less than pristine."

"Doesn't your father have a beard?"

Guinevere narrowed her eyes and carefully scraped away the stubble from Arthur's throat. "I started when I was eight. I might have been a bit wobbly when I tried the first few times, and he wasn't particularly forgiving."

Arthur kept his silence and let the slender dark haired woman wipe away the last vestiges of soap from his faces when she'd finished with the razor. Despite their joking his skin was unbroken, and when Guinevere pressed a kiss to his throat the skin was so sensitive that he suppressed a shiver.

"It's going to be today isn't it. That's when Saxon wants you."

"Three 'o clock. If anything goes wrong Merlin and Dagonet take over." Arthur didn't attempt to lie to her. "I have to go. Saxon and his men aren't going to give up and at the moment we know next to nothing about him. He's kept his word so far - I'll be careful and I won't be going alone."

Guinevere carefully wiped the razor clean on a towel and put it back in the drawer beneath the sink.

"It's only because I don't want my last words to you being "you're a ridiculously noble idiot" that I'm not calling you a ridiculously noble idiot now," she said quietly.

"Well you dodged that bullet pretty well," Arthur said, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. "I'll have Tristan with me. Don't worry, If Saxon wanted me dead he'd have shot me rather than arranging a meeting."

"Well that's reassuring," Guinevere said so quietly that Arthur didn't hear her. "I can't see anything going wrong there**."**

**A/N: Thanks very much everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Kathryn has kindly made some lovely banners for the story - the links are on my profile page.**


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"It's a bit strange worrying about Tris. He's always the one whose watching our backs not the other way around." Galahad watched the dark haired scout exchange a few words with their Commander before heading off around the north fence of the compound. "I mean I know that he's good at what he does and all that, but it doesn't seem right him and Arthur going off like this. There's got to be something we could do to help."

"You could get shot, muck up Arthur's attempt at a truce and cause all out warfare." Gawain watched as Tristan disappeared out of sight. "Sorry. I don't like this any more than you do, but like I said, we've got to keep calm. Tris has Arthur's back, Arthur has ours. "

"And Arthur is skipping off to see a bonafide nutcase in the middle of nowhere." Checking the gun at his hip for the fifth time in as many minutes, Galahad shoved his hands in his pockets. "I know fuck all about military strategy but this doesn't feel good."

"Alright boys?" For such a big man Bors could move surprisingly quietly, and when both Galahad and Gawain jumped at his greeting he gave a half smile as he trudged up the hill behind them. "Keep jawing like that and you won't have to look for trouble, it'll sneak up on you all by itself."

"Better than going out and looking for it," Gawain pointed out.

"Yeah. Well lets send the boss off with a cheery smile rather than planning his funeral anyway." Bors gave a jovial grin and waved at Arthur who was deep in conversation with a strained looking Lancelot. Watching as the Commander headed off towards the forest Bors's smile dropped, and glancing at the big man, Gawain noticed that for once the ex-squaddie truly looked concerned. He wasn't the only one; Galahad was quiet and tense, and it seemed that the whole fort itself seemed to be on edge.

The soldiers had retreated to their posts, most of the refugees back in the camp. Stark, imposing and devoid of the usual guards surrounding it, the main gate seemed strangely ominous as Commander Castus walked past the two gun turrets and into the forest.

"There had to be a better way than this," Galahad murmured.

"Would have been nice, wouldn't it?" Bors watched the gate close behind Arthur. "Trouble is, there's twenty odd men women and children currently getting settled in our camp that says Saxon keeps his promises and isn't bluffing about holding a whole load of other people hostage. Would have been bloody satisfying sorting out an ambush and taking out as many bastards as we could, but that's not what this is about. "

"Doesn't make it any easier," Galahad retorted. "No offence to Dag, but I was kinda getting used to Arthur being the boss."

"'don't reckon Dag's that keen on promotion. " The big man glanced back towards the refugee camp where his cousin could be seen helping rebuild one of the sleeping quarters. "But if he does end up in charge I can count on you two right?"

"Come off it, Bors," Gawain said wearily. "We've all come this far together. I don't want to see this place fall apart. We're behind Dagonet if it comes to that - right Gal."

"Like you ever give me a choice in these things anyway," Galahad said without rancour. "Doesn't seem much point in hanging around here doing nothing. Might as well go and see what we can do to help."

"Atta boy." Bors gave the younger man a paternal slap on the shoulder that almost knocked Galahad over. "Busy minds need busy hands, that's what my mum used to say. Something like that anyway."

The homily didn't make much sense to Gawain, but he didn't bother to correct his friend. Following his two brothers in arms down towards the barracks, he nonetheless couldn't resist looking back. Through the sturdy wrought iron gates there was no sign of Arthur, nor anyone else, and with a prickle of unease that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, Gawain wondered who, if anyone, would return from the silent forest beyond.

* * *

If he hadn't known that Tristan was behind him he would have thought himself totally alone, Arthur thought. Close, but not close enough to be taken out by enemy fire in one go was the not particularly cheerful agreement between them. Even so, senses at their highest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Arthur could not help but feel rattled. _If he couldn't sense the man he knew to be following him then how the hell could he be sure that he wasn't being followed by Saxon and his men?_

It wasn't an arduous walk to the clearing he was headed for. The first leaves had started to colour - an amber warning to the chill of winter yet to come, but the breeze was still warm and had circumstances been different, Arthur would have enjoyed the walk. As it was, he sensed rather than saw the first man following him a couple of minutes after losing site of the base. Keeping calm and pretending not to notice, he none the less managed to catch a glimpse of two other men from his peripheral vision.

_Guards._ Castus had not expected Saxon to come alone despite the terms of their agreement, and so their presence was not a surprise. Their stealth and coordination was, however, and not a welcome one. His gun on his hip was as familiar as his bones beneath his skin, but resisting the urge to touch the weapon for luck, Arthur kept walking and did not look around.

It didn't take long to get to the clearing Saxon had specified. Half expecting another bloody tableau of dead soldiers, it should have been a relief to see the small glade empty except for the sunlight flickering through the leaves above, but somehow the pretty scene seemed more ominous because of its beauty.

"Saxon!" Keeping his back somewhat protected by a close knit bush of brambles, Arthur squared his shoulders and listened as the sound of a person approaching jostled the bracken and crunched the fallen leaves beneath their feet. The blond man who entered the glade was not what Arthur had expected. Perhaps in his mid fifties, he was neither as tall as Dagonet nor as stocky as Bors, but nonetheless had a presence that filled the space in the clearing, and although his even features were still handsome, and the laughter lines that bracketed his eyes denoted a sense of humour, Arthur felt a profound sense of unease as the man walked towards him.

"Commander Castus. It's interesting to meet you - I wasn't entirely sure that you would come." Saxon's eyes were so pale a blue that they would have seemed colourless had the force of his personality not given them a steely vibrancy that was almost hypnotic.

"You held your end of the bargain, I've held mine," Arthur replied. It was hard to keep Saxon's gaze, harder still not to glance up at the shadows that flitted between the trees in his peripheral vision. "What do you want?"

"Short and to the point." The blond gave a bark of a laugh and smiled at the younger man before him with what almost could have been affection. "You're getting quite the reputation Commander Castus. Perhaps not all of it is merely gossip."

"I could say the same about you," Arthur said cooly. "I don't like repeating myself and I don't like standing in the middle of a forest while your men make me target practice. What do you want?"

"Oh they won't hurt you." Saxon flickered his eyes to the left, but Arthur recognized the attempt at distraction and didn't take his eyes off the man in front of him. There were at least two men fifty yards to his right that were not nearly as stealthy as they thought themselves to be, but if anyone else was approaching from behind then he'd have to rely on Tristan taking them out before they had a chance to fire. Keeping his hands shoved into his pockets, his right hand closing around the Glock nestled snugly against his thigh, Arthur gave a grim smile when he saw Saxon open his hand as though to give a signal.

"Don't even think about it unless you want this to turn into a suicide pact. I'm willing to bet that I'm a faster shot than they are."

"Very good." The older man gave a respectful smile. "You can't blame me for trying though - if you'd been stupid enough to fall for that you'd have wasted both our time. Most men of your station have been somewhat lacking; it's a refreshing change not to be disappointed for once."

"God forbid," Arthur said tightly. "As it is you're just wasting my time instead. If you want polite conversation then tell your boys to back off."

Saxon gave a flick of his wrist and the shadowy men that had followed Castus to the glade retreated.

"Funny thing, you bringing up God," Saxon said thoughtfully. Taking a couple of steps closer, something in Arthur's eyes dissuaded him from approaching further, and instead he stopped and gave Castus a searching look. "You want to know why I brought you here? I didn't. This was divine will. Written in the stars if you believe that new age bullshit."

"I came here because you gave a promise to release the hostages left from Greenhead Base," Arthur replied. He kept his voice quiet and his body still - self control that Saxon apparently could not emulate. The older man paced two steps to the left, scratching his head quickly and probably hard enough to draw blood. Had the faint rustle of bracken behind him not signalled the presence of someone behind him, Arthur might have taken the opportunity to put a bullet in his head.

"God has chosen you as he has chosen me." Saxon's pale eyes gleamed like sapphires in the autumn sunlight when they fixed upon the Commander. "Do you think that it was luck? Chance? that you survived when the world withered away around you?" He took a half step forward before obviously thinking better of it. "How many so called natural disasters did we ignore in the years before? How many warnings were we given? This is a new era. This is a time to claw back all the things that were once lost. Strength, purpose… We must rebuild the world in an image of our creator - selfless, determined and ruthless."

"It seems that we were reading from different Bibles," Arthur said calmly. " Or did yours come with a few pages missing, because I definitely remember the whole "love thy neighbour" thing and can't recall the "murder innocent men, women and children and defile their mutilated corpses."

"So narrow minded," Saxon spat. "As though one book could hope to contain the will of the divine" The veneer of politeness was cracking as his anger rose, and for a moment Arthur caught a glimpse of what truly lay beneath. Faith in its blindest form; uncomprehending towards compassion, reason or mercy. "We are creatures born of rage. Our creator has tossed the world of our making aside and it is our job, no, our duty to reform it. To become what we were meant to be. Not ipod wearing, frappuccino sipping shadows of our former selves. We were lost, He has awakened us. To deny His will is to ignore the signs and to welcome another scourge."

"You really are fucking mental aren't you," Arthur muttered under his breath. "And the soldiers left to die with stakes up their arses and the refugees you've slaughtered? How does that work in the grand scheme of things?" He didn't dare turn his head to check if the man behind him had gotten any closer, nor did he move his hand from his gun, even though his palm was sweating enough to make the grip slick in his hand.

"Remnants of an old regime. Still clinging to their badges, their orders and their ignorance. There's no place for that now. Those who understand the message make sure that others understand." Saxon still smiled, but there was a flicker of indecision in his eyes and Arthur took advantage of it.

"With rather more gusto than your average religious nutcase looking for a brighter future. Mobs don't usually have much loyalty to their leader no matter how much bullshit they spout. Religious rhetoric will only get you so far."

The blond man shrugged. "We could argue semantics, I suppose. My men are loyal to me. If they perhaps get a little carried away then that is hardly my fault. Boys will be boys after all." Saxon tipped his shaggy blond head to the south of where they stood, and chancing a quick look backwards, Arthur felt his resolve strengthen when he glimpsed Tristan perched almost invisibly in a horse chestnut tree.

"Presumably the man in the tree with a rifle aimed at my head is loyal to you."

"As the man behind me is to you, Arthur replied calmly. "If I or my scout make a move to kill you then we die. If your men get any ideas about shooting first, then whoever survives will be taking what they can scoop up in a teaspoon back to your camp."

"Nice imagery." Saxon smiled and gave a small gesture with his left hand. " We'll keep our guard dogs safe and out the way shall we though ? It would be a pity to spoil such a lovely afternoon; besides, we wouldn't want to scare the children."

Saxon clapped his hands, and on cue seven children between the ages of six and ten were herded into the glade. All of them grubby and malnourished, and all of them terrified of the three men that stood behind them, heavily armed and obviously unperturbed by their distress.

Mindful that Saxon was watching him closely for a reaction, Arthur struggled to keep his expression neutral. "Using children as pawns? That's the way you are going to achieve your utopia?"

The blond laughed. "Oh don't think so badly of me Commander. Consider the little ones a gesture of goodwill on both our parts. You go your way and I'll go mine, and so long as we all refrain from getting trigger happy then no-one gets caught in the cross fire."

"Until you and your boys bomb the crap out of them."

"Until God makes his selection," Saxon corrected. He waited until Tristan had jumped down from his vantage spot before backing away with his men. "I'm glad that I met you Commander Castus. When the time comes I will be sorry to kill you."

Well aware that neither he nor his scout could open fire without risking the children beside them, Arthur watched Saxon disappear back into the forest followed by his men. Outnumbered and ill-equipped to protect his new charges, Arthur ordered Tristan to lead the way back to the base and squashed the desire to go back after Saxon and put a bullet in his head.

"You'd be dead before you got within a hundred yards of him," The dark haired northerner said as though reading his mind. "I got a decent look at Saxon's camp. He isn't as clever as he thinks he is."

"Given that the psycho has a god complex that isn't surprising." Adrenaline made Arthur jumpy, and it was with an effort that he tried to at least seem a little more relaxed when one of the youngest boys fell over and he had to pick him up. "As soon as we get back we get everyone inside. Full on lock-down - whatever Saxon has planned he's going to do it soon. Did you see anything we could use?"

"Yeah." Tristan kept his hand on his rifle and waited for the two small girls following him to catch up and get in front of him before resuming his hurried pace back towards the fort. "You might not like it though."

"If you've got something to say then say it."

The gates of Hadrian's Wall's base opened like the welcoming embrace of a mother, and herding the children forward into safety, Arthur waited until the gates clanged shut behind them before turning to his Scout.

"Tristan?"

The northerner looked at him with something that might have been compassion. "If Merlin and his daughter are truly on our side then you might want to ask them why Saxon is wearing the same necklace that Zara Taduz wore the night she came to see me when we were in the forest."

**A/N: Just for clarification, I do use the term "God" in this story, both within Arthur, the Samartians' and Saxon's dialogue. Just to make things clear - with the former two it's as a swear word that us lot in the UK use a lot (If I had set the story back in Medieval times I would have used "Gods" instead), and with the latter it's a non religion specific deity that is used a mad blokes excuse for nasty behaviour. I personally am agnostic and very much believe in tolerance and understanding when it comes to other people's beliefs.**

**Thanks as always readers and reviewers!**

**(Arre! Hello Kate, I'm fine thanks, still trundling along. Hope all is well and that life is being kind to you *internet hug*)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me.**

It took a moment for Tristan's words to sink in, and when they did Arthur shook his head in denial.

"Are you sure?" A glance at the scout's expression silenced any further questions, and pausing to watch the gates close behind them, Arthur tried to look at the situation rationally. "What was it? A crucifix or something? Because that doesn't mean…"

"They both wore fasces," Tristan interrupted. "An old Roman symbol for power - not commonly seen, at least not since Hitler appropriated it. Saxon's was made of gold, Zara's was done in silver, but I'd bet my life that they were made by the same person."

"Shit," Arthur murmured to himself. Grabbing one of the soldiers who had been relieved from his post by the arm, he instructed the slightly awestruck guard to take the children to the medical quarters before setting off to the building where Zara had been allocated a room. _Listen to what the woman has to say before making assumptions, _he told himself.

Well aware that he was coming down from an adrenaline high and hadn't eaten for a while, Castus steadied himself and tried to think clearly. Now was not the time to be throwing around accusations and destroying whatever fragile alliance the base had with Merlin and his men. _And Guinevere, _his mind nonetheless delighted in in reminding him. _She'd seduced him - had her motive been desire or subterfuge? _An image of her scraping the sharp blade of his razor over his throat only a few hours ago made him push those particular doubts away. If Guinevere had wanted him dead then she'd had ample opportunity to kill him over the last couple of days, and given the inept way in which she had struggled not to show her feelings when he had met with Merlin, artifice was not one of her talents. But Zara… What exactly did he or anyone else know about her save for the fact that Merlin and his people held her in high esteem?

Hurrying up the steps to the barracks, vaguely aware that Tristan was right behind him, Arthur had barely found out the room number of Taduz's quarters from a young boy playing cards on the steps when the first bomb went off.

* * *

"Oh fuck." Still dazed from the blast that had thrown her backwards, Alice tried and failed to get to her knees, but the rubble trapping her lower body held her fast. Panicking, she clawed her hands into the lip of the metal strip that held the linoleum down between the kitchen and pantry. The thin steel cut her fingers, but provided her with a few scant seconds of purchase before it came loose, and wriggling and kicking, Alice struggled free of the debris.

Ears ringing from the sound of what had to have been a bomb and dimly aware of her body protesting every move, she managed to get to her feet and looked dazedly around her.

The pantry wall had been plasterboard - light enough to be torn apart when the blast went off and heavy enough to hurt when it fell on top of her. Nonetheless, looking at the decimated kitchen in front of her, Alice felt her stomach roll. It had been pure luck that she'd gone to find another can of tomatoes. If she hadn't…

Shoving that thought away she tried to get to her feet. _Kate. Kate had been here a moment ago, where was she? Why wasn't anyone calling for help?_ A chunk of ceiling plaster fell and shattered a few feet away from her without disturbing the ringing in her ears, and Alice gave a nervous giggle that she couldn't hear. _Probably lots of people making all sorts of noise, _she told herself, _just can't hear them for the moment._ The back door to the pantry was blocked by a toppled shelving unit, the only way out through the ruined kitchen. Not giving herself time to think about the danger or lose her nerve, Alice limped through the room, scrambling over the mangled remains of one of the cookers with more haste than grace. Dodging another chunk of ceiling tile that fell almost in front of her, reaching the wide expanse of the dining hall should have been a relief. It wasn't.

The high, domed roof was shattered in the centre, the new skylight acquired at the price of several lives. The tangle of bodies crushed beneath the huge blocks of fallen concrete were bloody and unmoving, and Alice took two steps towards the atrocity before pausing. The dead eyes of one of the soldiers cut almost in half by a piece of rebar watched her accusingly, but she backed away. There was nothing she could do there - those unlucky enough to have been under the roof when it fell were most certainly with their gods now.

"Kate?" Even though she couldn't hear the cry to her friend, Alice was nonetheless sure that the words had died in her throat when she looked around. Four bloodied soldiers at the far end of the hall were working in unison to free a couple of people from under a chunk of concrete. To the right where whatever bomb or missile had detonated was a mess of what had probably once been people. Catching sight of a perfectly preserved hand with a watch encircling the wrist but without an arm to go with it, Alice dropped to her knees and threw up the scant remains of her breakfast.

"Love, you ok?" It took a moment for her to recognise Burgess, the soldier in charge of the armoury , but when the middle aged man held out a hand she took it and got shakily to her feet.

"Are we under attack?" Glancing behind her, Alice made a quick mental inventory of the dozen or so people helping the wounded. "Should we get everyone out of here?" Even half deaf she could hear the screams of someone being tended to by three soldiers. Stepping sideways she half tripped and would have fallen onto a body flung to the ground by the blast if Burgess hadn't grabbed her arm. Fulcinia's wide dark eyes stared at the ceiling blankly, her chest soaked in blood.

"Fulcinia?" she asked tentatively, reaching out towards the fallen woman.

"There's nothing you can do for her," Burgess said roughly, half dragging Alice outside. "Gawain!"

Alice was shoved into the blond soldier's arms before she had time to process what she had seen. Grabbing a handful of Gawain's shirt and tucking herself against his chest she welcomed the feel of his arms embracing her, but turned her head back to the ruins of the dining hall. Outside the air was thick with smoke, but there was no sign of Kate, and judging by the huge holes torn out of the barricades, not much safety to be found behind what was left of Hadrians wall either.

* * *

The first bomb that destroyed the armoury probably saved both Arthur and Tristan's lives.

Stumbling sideways by the force of the blast, both of them fell off the steps that led up to the sleeping quarters and were somewhat protected when the building exploded only a few seconds later.

Tucking his arms over his head and curling up as best he could to escape injury, Tristan nonetheless bit down hard on his lower lip when a chunk of debris slammed into his side. Heart pounding and ears ringing, he exhaled carefully, and moving tentatively, he decided that at worst a couple of his ribs might have been cracked, but by getting up he was unlikely to puncture a lung, even if doing so hurt like a son of a bitch.

"Arthur?" The big Commander lay sprawled on the grass, obviously unconscious, and after checking his pulse and giving a cursory check for injuries, Tristan left him where he was. Until he knew if the medical quarters were intact there was no point in moving him, and dragging him around would most likely do more harm than good. Another explosion rocked the air around them, sending the small boy who had been playing cards' body tumbling down what was left of the steps and shattering the last intact window of the barracks. The sound of someone banging a door made him turn warily, and it was only sharp reflexes that prevented him from raising his rifle when Kate managed to shove open the door to the nearby shower block and ran over to him.

"Tristan?" Kate's brown eyes were wide with fear at the gun he held. "Friend not foe, ok?". Dropping to her knees, she gave him a cursory once-over before turning her attention to Arthur.

"He's breathing alright and his pulse is strong", Tristan offered when the Blonde put her fingers against Castus' neck. "He's just knocked out cold."

"Well that's ok then," she snapped. Rolling the big man over into the recovery position, she shrugged out of her coat and put it over the unconscious man. "It's not like head injuries ever kill people. I mean seriously, don't you ever watch medical dramas?"

"I've been in prison," Tristan pointed out. "In Samartia our viewing options were somewhat limited."

"Excuses," she muttered. Getting up, Kate had Tristan sitting down before he knew it and had run cold hands over his ribcage before he had time to protest. "You're going to be sore in the morning but you'll probably live," she said. Tugging down his T-shirt, Tristan felt the tremor of her hands as she tried to tuck the material back under his belt.

"Easy," he said quietly. "Just breathe."

"Yeah right," Kate said shakily. "I can't see Alice or any of your lot. Shouldn't we get out of here - what if there are more bombs? I mean that's what that was right? Where is everyone? I've got to find Alice... " She looked around nervously.

"If there are any more explosives then they won't be here - the damage is already done." Well aware that Kate hadn't yet noticed the body of the young boy that was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, Tristan gently took her arm and turned her so that her back was to him. "I need you to stay here and look after Arthur. Can you do that?"

Kate hesitated before taking the Glock that Tristan took from Castus's belt.

"Alright." Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear she checked the ammo, cocked the safety like a pro, and in response to the scout's surprise gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. "Been hanging around soldiers since the virus happened. Pays to keep your eyes open."

Even tense as he was, the admission elicited a small smile.

"No arguments here. I'll be back as soon as I can. Zara Taduz might be in on this so when it comes to Merlin's people shoot first and ask questions later."

Kate looked startled by the revelation but did not lower the gun that he had given her, and somewhat reassured Tristan set of in search of the rest of the Samartians.

Whoever had set up the bombs at the base had definitely known what they were doing.

Flinching as he watched part of the dining hall's roof fall inward, Tristan gave a brief glance back at Arthur and Kate before hurrying over to the ruined building. Breathing hurt, but he mentally shoved the pain aside, as he jogged across the expanse of grass that bordered the barracks. The few military platoons had regrouped with admirable efficiency and were engaged in digging out survivors from the ruins of the many damaged buildings, and the half trained refugees from the camp were likewise doing all they could to free or aid survivors. Calming a little when he saw the rest of the Samartians looking grim but unharmed and busy clearing the entrance to the mess hall, Tristan paused to catch his breath. The little blonde serving girl - Alice - was helping Gawain, apparently shell shocked but in one piece, but there was no sign of Zara Taduz, _nor Merlin,_ he thought uneasily.

"Tristan?" _Dagonet at least seemed to have his wits about him_, the scout thought with no little relief as the ex-squaddie walked over to him. "Where's Castus?" From the big man's expression he was expecting the worst, and Tristan quickly shook his head in answer to the unspoken question.

"Arthur's out cold by the barracks. Better get someone to have a look at him and a couple of our lot to guard him." Glancing at the ruins of the main building, Tristan watched as a couple of wounded men were helped out onto the grass in front of the building. "We're sitting ducks here, Dag. Zara Taduz is with Saxon. Have you seen her?"

Dagonet looked at the northerner with surprise. "Zara? The old lady? What are you talking about?"

"Have you seen her or not?" Tristan snapped. "And where are Merlin and Guinevere?"

"Behind you." Guinevere looked a little unsteady as she walked over to them and was covered in dust, but given that her eyes were narrowed with worry and not pain, the blood that stained her coat obviously wasn't hers. "Where's Arthur?"

Tristan eyed the young woman coldly. He'd left his battered rifle back with his commander, but the knife tucked in his boot would end Guinevere's life as quickly as any bullet if she gave him cause to attack.

"He's safe. You're not. Where's Zara?"

"Zara?" Guinevere looked utterly confused. "She's with my dad in the forest. If things went wrong we were going to come and back you and Arthur up." Sensing the tension between them her fingers twitched towards the Bowie knife on her belt "What's going on?"

"You tell me." Tristan watched Guinevere carefully, but the fear that widened her eyes was of what he might do to her, not guilt at what she had done.

"Dagonet?" Edging towards the older man the young woman did not take her eyes off the scout. "I haven't done anything wrong." Brown eyes met amber, and the sincerity within them calmed Tristan slightly. "What's going on. Where's Arthur?" She asked worriedly. "Is he alright?"

"At the steps by the nearest barracks. Zara's betrayed you, how many of your men do you trust?"

"Zara?" Guinevere looked at Tristan as though he were utterly insane.

"The necklace she wears," Tristan demanded. "Where did she get it from?"

"That stick symbol? Her son gave it to her before he died." Glancing over at the dining hall, Guinevere winced as Alice carefully draped a tea towel over the head of one of the dead. "What difference does it make?"

"When did her son die?" Tristan demanded. "Did you ever meet him?"

"No." Guinevere had to think for a moment. "Dad always said not to bring it up because Zara got upset. He died in prison, maybe a year before the virus? I'm sorry, I'm not sure. What difference does it make anyway?" Glancing over at the wreckage of what was left of the north fence, she looked around worriedly. "Look we need to get that fixed, I'm going to find Arthur."

Tristan didn't stop the young woman from jogging off, but Dagonet did not let the scout off the hook so easily.

"Tris?" the older man was worried but calm, and for one of the first times in his life Tristan felt the sweet relief of having someone that he could entirely trust on his side. "Whatever just blew the crap out of us was an inside job, no way was it missiles. You reckon the gypsy woman is in on it, ok, but she couldn't have done this alone. What didn't you want to say in front of Guinevere?"

The scout dragged his eyes away from the ruined fence and felt his heart sink at the chaotic scenes behind him.

"I don't reckon Zara's son is as dead as she says he is," Tristan said eventually. "And I'm pretty fucking sure that unless we get the fence back up and the men organized he's going to be paying us a visit very soon."

**A/N: heh, I know I'm playing very fast and loose with Arthurian mythology and the plot of the film - please don't bonk me on the head with heavy things. Cheers very much to everyone who has read, reviewed and favourited the story. (Thanks Rachel for pointing out my timeline mistake! This story has become a bit of a beast to keep all the timelines straight so if I make mistakes then anyone who spots them will be met with nothing but hugs from me :))**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"No." Guinevere sat on a cheap plastic chair in Arthur's office coiled like a wildcat. From time to time her dark eyes flicked at the group of men either sitting or standing between her and the door, and Arthur Castus tried with difficulty to squash his personal feelings for the young woman down and treat her as the prisoner of war that she now was. "You don't know what you're talking about!" She looked imploringly at Gawain and Galahad who didn't meet her eyes, and glared at Bors who met her gaze unblinkingly. "Zara wouldn't, my father wouldn't… This wasn't anything to do with us!"

"This was an inside job," Arthur said firmly. "The bomb that took out half the mess hall took careful planning and killed soldiers, refugees and staff alike - it wasn't one of Saxon's missiles being lobbed over the fence. There's fifty people dead already, Guinevere; given the state of some of those in the med bay the number will rise. Do you really want this on your conscience?"

"Fuck you." There were tears in her eyes, and though his head ached like hell, the pain Arthur could see in Guinevere's eyes hurt him more. "I lost people too - if you weren't keeping me here I'd be helping bury them."

"Pretty fucking convenient that as soon as we open the door to your lot that this whole place gets bombed to shit, don't you think?" Lancelot's dark eyes flashed dangerously. "Since Zara and your dad seemed to have skipped back to Saxon I have to wonder why they left you here. Maybe they didn't like you sleeping with the enemy."

It was only reflexes honed by years in the army that enabled Arthur to grab Guinevere around the waist and stop her decapitating his brother with the letter opener that he'd left on his desk.

"Easy," he said quietly to her. Thin as she was, he could feel the tremble of her muscles, her body taught as steel. When she turned her head and gave him a brief look of disappointed resignation he almost dropped her. She was obviously expecting him to lock her up and let his men do God knows what to her like Honorius had done. Instead he looked at his men. All of them were running on adrenaline and anger. Having them with him when he questioned Guinevere had seemed a good idea when he had struggled to consciousness and found half the base destroyed and the rest of it in utter chaos . Tristan thought that Zara had a hand in what had happened, and since there was no sign of her or Merlin, it looked like the scout was probably right, but Guinevere could have left with them. There was no reason for her to have stayed. He'd made a mistake in trying to question her like this.

"Out," he ordered his men. "Check on the fence repairs. If you need more men then use anyone from clearance in the mess hall. I'll be with you in half an hour, keep your wits about you."

"Arthur.." Lancelot gave his brother an incredulous look. "She's probably…"

"You have your orders," Arthur snapped. "Get going."

"If she blows your head off then on your own head be it," Lancelot muttered nonsensically, just loud enough for his brother to hear. The rest of the men went without a murmur, but Dagonet met his commander's eyes and gave a faint smile of understanding.

The click of the door shutting behind them was almost inaudible beneath the sound of heavy boots retreating down the hallway, but Guinevere flinched nonetheless. Eyeing Arthur who stood near the door ,she gave a slightly hysterical giggle.

"Not going to keep the firing squad around then? Or is that this evening's entertainment?"

"We just want to know what happened."

"What about my dad?" Backing away when Arthur tried to take her in her arms, Guinevere shook her head violently. "Don't you dare touch me when you think I'm part of what happened today. Do you really think that my dad would just plant a bomb and run away? Do you think that I would sleep with you because I had some sort of link with Saxon and needed to get close to you? I don't know what's happening here." She was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You saved me, I lov.." she cut the words off and looked at him wearily. "Please, Arthur."

"It's alright." This time when he reached for her Guinevere didn't pull away. " I believe you, but we've got to work fast. It's not a coincidence that your dad's gone missing right after the bomb went off, and Zara Taduz might not be all she seems. We've got a half demolished fence that's the only thing keeping out a load of well armed nutcases, a load of soldiers that are only half trained and probably confused. I need you to talk to your people and find out what you can, but first tell me what you know of Zara."

Fishing a grubby tissue from her pocket, Guinevere wiped her face and blew her nose before sitting down. "She joined us just after the virus got hold - back when things were really bad." She gave a rueful smile. "Not that things got much better, but I'm talking the riot days - remember them?"

Arthur nodded. Try as he might he couldn't forget what was left of his platoon trying to keep order amongst utter chaos. In the early days when the government crumbled, the tv stations went dark, and those healthy enough to panic and blame everything from Muslim extremists to extra-terrestrials for what had happened were in as much danger from each other as the virus.

"yeah, well." Guinevere plucked at her sleeve nervously. "Me and dad were in the New Forest then so we were out of the way mostly. People kind of gravitated there - I guess because there's so much space there weren't many bodies and the cities were so dangerous. Zara came with a group from Brighton - she told me she had a stall on the pier, for the tourists you know? Fortune telling. "You will meet someone tall dark and handsome"," she said with mock gravitas. Glancing at Arthur she sized him up and laughed sadly. "Careful what you wish for, huh?"

"And you trusted her?" Arthur prompted.

"'course." Guinevere shrugged. "No reason not to, and she was… I don't know how to describe it. She knew things. Things about people or places that she shouldn't have known. I know you probably don't believe in things like foresight or psychics or anything like that, but she was the real deal. Dad wasn't coping very well at the time and she gave him a purpose - she gave all of us a purpose. Some hope about a better world yet to come when everything around us was pretty horrible. She knew about you." Guinevere met Arthur's eyes and gave a faint smile. "She knew about me and you before I'd even met you."

Castus felt his stomach tighten with guilt and sorrow. "You came to me because she told you to."

"No!" Whatever Guinevere saw in his eyes obviously spooked her, and she shook her head, red-rimmed eyes direct and honest. "I never do anything I'm told - ask my dad. I'm with you despite what she said, not because of it. I was fully intent on helping you build this magical brave new world and not going anywhere near you in you know, _that_ way. It's your fault that you're you and I can't stay away. You shouldn't be so bloody brave and noble and kind and look really, really good when you take your clothes off."

Arthur couldn't help grinning as relief flooded through him. "My apologies."

Guinevere half-smiled. "Should think so too. Anyway…" she ran a hand through tangled brown hair. "Zara. She started off just as a friend to my dad - she was nice to me too. When the Saxon killings started she became more." Frowning as though something had just occurred to her, she wrapped her arms around her body. "She seemed to know how to avoid Saxon's gangs - I know we got a reputation for killing and did the whole "heads on sticks" thing, but they were men that were already dead. It worked as a deterrent and anyway, Zara knew which places to stop for the night, where we should be going. My God, if you're right…"

"It wasn't foresight, it was because she was in contact with Saxon," Arthur finished. "What do you know about her son?"

"Not much. In the early days, when she first joined us there was a bloke - I think his name was Chris, Christian? He took one look at Zara and accused her of being a crazy neo-nazi bitch and said her son would rot in hell, but he was drunk and not exactly sane. No-one took any notice of him and he was gone in the morning. Zara told me that her son died in prison because of his beliefs. I thought she meant that he was one of those new age crusaders and got arrested for protesting against a motorway or something - Zara was, is, big on respecting the environment and protecting our heritage." Guinevere's voice slowed. "I just assumed, we all just assumed that he was locked up for something harmless, and she got so upset when she talked about him and how he was only doing what was right that none of us asked questions. You don't exactly say to someone "are you sure you're not lying about your child getting killed y'know?" Oh God - I never thought, and now all those people….." She bit her lip so hard that the soft flesh turned white.

Crossing the short distance between them, Arthur crouched before her and cradled her face in his hands.

"Enough. Don't beat yourself up for something you couldn't have known. Zara had me - all of us fooled as well. Let's concentrate on finding your father and stopping Saxon."

"Ok." Guinevere gave a sniff and a decent approximation of a smile. "But if what Zara is what we think she is then I get to shoot her first ok?"

"Done."

* * *

Tristan sank down on the bed in the small room that for the moment served as home. The barricades were as secured as they could be, but even after Arthur had double checked them, given everyone his assurances and filled he and the rest of the Samartians in on what Guinevere said, the base still did not feel safe.

_Not that anywhere had felt safe in a long time, _he thought ruefully. From the children's homes and transitory foster parents he had grown up with after being found in a public bathroom as a baby, to the prison yard where his long hair and tattoos had marked him as being strange to his fellow inmates, safe was not a word he associated with nightfall. Stretching out, he let his head rest upon the musty smelling pillow and opened the little book of precious memories in his mind that he dared not visit too often.

_Isolde laughing because their cockerel rushed at him when he tried to take the eggs from beneath his hens. Isolde In the front room with her red hair shining like fire in the sunlight as she rearranged the daffodils he had picked from the garden. Isolde beside him with the curve between her ribs and hip somehow exactly the same size as his hand. _

_Kate fierce and brave, her dark eyes blazing when she thought he might threaten her friend._

_Where did that come from?_

The knock at the door startled him out of his reveries, and struggling to a sitting position, he managed to bark out "it's open!" without wincing.

Expecting one of his fellow Samartians come to fill him in on whatever new information they had about Saxon, he was surprised to see Kate instead. She looked very tired, her sweater stained and her hair dishevelled.

"Why haven't you been to the med bay yet? I've asked the nurses and none of them have seen you."

Completely non-plussed, Tristan merely looked at her blankly for a moment. Pain was something easy enough to manage after enough practice, and it wasn't as though he was going to drop dead from a few bruises. Bothering the nurses who surely had more than enough to deal with hadn't occurred to him, nor had the possibility of Kate even remembering that he had been hurt.

"I'm fine." Giving her a glare that he hoped might send her back to her own bedroom where she might get the rest she obviously needed, he gestured for her to go. "Shut the door behind you."

"No." Kate crossed her arms over her chest and leant against the doorframe. Tucking one foot behind the other, her body language might as well have had a neon sign flashing "I'm not going anywhere," above her, and too tired to get into a fight, Tristan rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked at her wearily.

"Either say what you've got on your mind or go."

Nudging the door shut behind her, Kate slid her bag off her shoulder and dumped it on the spare bed. Carefully unpacking a couple of bandages, some band aids, a tube of antiseptic cream and a not particularly clean looking wad of tissues, Tristan watched what little he could see of her face through the veil of her pale hair. In the glow of the lamp it was almost golden and he wondered how she kept it so clean. As if she had heard his thoughts, she lifted her head and regarded him with wary eyes.

"Look, let's get things straight. I'm not stupid. I've seen the way you've been moving and it's obvious that your ribs are hurting you. I can either go to Castus and tell him or I can have a look at you, because it's obvious that you aren't going to go to the med bay by yourself like an intelligent person."

_Well no, he wouldn't, but there was no need to tell Kate that._ _And even if he did like her company and his ribs ached like hell, having her this close was not a good idea. He'd been without a woman in a long time and she looked rattled as hell - they were an accident waiting to happen._

"I'm fine," he said with as much authority he could manage without actually having to get up and possibly fall down on the carpet in front of her. "Just leave me alone, alright."

"Sorry," she said wearily. "Not going to happen." Tugging open a packet of butterfly bandages that fluttered down onto the duvet like a mini ticker tape parade, Kate eyed Tristan up as though he were a bucking bronco she was expected to saddle. "Are you going to take your shirt off or should I go and get one of the other Samartians to do it for you?"

Tristan almost laughed. Bors and Lancelot must have had a dozen witty come-backs for that particular question, but he was never one for word play, and he had a feeling that Kate was probably bluffing when she threatened to get his friends involved. Nonetheless she obviously wasn't going anywhere without first playing Florence Nightingale. Unbuttoning his shirt, he held back a wince as he slid the sleeves off his arms. Adrenaline and force of will had allowed him to push the worst of the pain away throughout the day, but the bruises blooming on the right side of his ribcage were making themselves known, and when Kate crossed the distance between them he recoiled when she touched cold fingers to them.

"Breathe in," she said quietly, her eyes intent as she watched his chest. Tristan obliged, and did so again when she asked him to exhale. "No problems breathing?" He shook his head. Kate's fingers were painful against his tender flesh, but even so he wished that they would slide over undamaged skin lower… He flinched with a response that had nothing to do with pain when her hand brushed against his nipple, and she pulled her hand back. "Sorry."

Tristan swallowed hard. "It's alright. I told you I was ok. You don't need to be here."

She gave him a wobbly smile. Backlit by the grubby lamp her hair was golden, her eyes fathomless and her voice filled with a strange bitter tenderness when she spoke. "They've just finished burying people killed in the bomb. I didn't know Fulcinia's last name and neither did Alice, so she's just Fulcinia carved on a cross in a field next to a lot of people who she didn't know." Backhanding the tears that were suddenly rolling down her cheeks, she glared at Tristan. "Look at least I can help you. No need to make such a big deal about it."

"Just bruises, Kate," Tristan said quietly. "Nothing broken, nothing you can do." Reaching out, he took her hand. Beneath his thumb her pulse raced, and without thinking, he reached around , embracing her waist. He expected her to stiffen or to pull away once he had realised what he had done, but instead she gave a shaky sigh and dropped her head down so that her hair brushed the tattoos on his cheeks. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and he was reminded vividly of another woman, another time when being close to another person did not have to mean pain or endless, exhausting watchfulness.

"I meant what I said before." Kate's words would have been inaudible had her mouth not been almost next to his ear, her breath ghosting against his neck. Her waist was slender beneath his hand, the sweet swell of her breasts soft against his chest. "I owe you."

_I owe you._

_Once upon a time his love had trusted someone that she thought she owed and had died for it. _

Letting go of the woman in his arms, Tristan squeezed Kate's arm gently and reached for his shirt. "'told you before, Kate," he said quietly. " You don't owe me anything. What happened to Brennus was done by the Saxons as far as I'm concerned, and not a moment too soon."

Kate gave him a half smile and nodded. "Thanks," she said softly. Picking up all the medical supplies and putting them back in her bag, she finger combed her hair into some semblance of neatness and didn't seem to mind when Tristan watched her. Walking over to the door she paused and gave him a genuine smile. "But just so you know, when this is all over, and if you wanted to… I wouldn't mind if you came around and said hello, or you know, maybe I could cook something?"

"I'd like that." She was gone with a click of the latch and the flash of a smile, and Tristan sat for a moment on the bed, his shirt half on, his ribs aching and for the first time in a long while wondering about the future.

A/N: Cheers everyone who is still reading, thanks very much to my reviewers - believe me you are appreciated (thanks Spygirl and Moe, nice anon people that I can't reply to and lovely Rachel for pointing out the mistake in the last chapter!).


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**Warning. This scene contains smut (quite explicit - for me anyway). If that is not your cup of tea and you would still like to know what happens in the chapter then either send me a PM or an email (it's on my profile page) and I'll send you a PG version.**

"Alright Dag?" Bors walked up to his cousin who was pulling tight a stretch of barbed wire over a gap in the main fence. The big man was wearing gloves, but Bors could not help but notice the trickle of blood that ran down the edges of them and into his sleeve. Dagonet had been working non stop since the bombs had gone off, and knowing him as he did, Bors could see his exhaustion despite his best attempts to camouflage them. "Give that a rest for a minute and come and have something to eat."

"Haven't got much left to do," Dagonet replied quietly. Tightening the wire with a grunt of effort he held out his hand. "Pass me that nail would you?"

Bors picked up a nail from the pile half hidden in the grass and passed it over. Dagonet wouldn't budge now that he had a mission to fulfil - experience had taught him that much - and the best he could do for his friend and cousin would be to help him fulfil it. Picking up a sledgehammer from the pile of tools, he whacked in a new post with a few hefty and therapeutic slams of the hammer. There were no spare gloves, so he waited until Dagonet had unravelled the wire before finding a nail to pin it to the post.

"I'm sorry about Fulcinia," he said quietly, pretending to sort through the pile of nails. "She seemed like a good woman."

"Barely knew her." Dagonet took the nail from Bors' hand and slammed it into the post so hard that the wood splintered. "Shit."

Wordlessly, Bors went to the other side of the post and between them they lifted the broken part away. Tossing it to one side, Dagonet picked up another from the row lined up and slammed it into the ground with such forcefulness that Bors picked up the sledgehammer and refused to hand it over. Hammering in the new post , Bors stopped to wipe his brow with the back of his hand.

"I understand you wanting to hit the shit out of something, but we're running out of posts. And don't tell me Fulcinia was nothing to you. I've known you for the past forty years you daft cunt - You were crap at lying when you were a kid and you're crap at lying now."

Dagonet whirled around, and for a moment Bors was certain that the taller man was going to punch him. Instead he unclenched his fists and shrugged wearily.

"I dunno Bors. Yeah, you're right I liked her. Managed to do fuck all to save her though didn't I." He gave a bitter laugh. "Don't you ever get tired of all this death?"

"Yeah." Bors' eyes were direct and honest as they met Dagonet's. Reaching out a hand, he squeezed his cousin's shoulder and gave a rueful smile. "That's why we're here though isn't it. That Saxon bastard'll show his face sooner or later, and when he does…"

"We take him down." Dagonet gave a faint huff of a laugh. "Bring it on." Bending down he picked up a nail and passed it to Bors. "Maybe you should do the hammering for a bit."

* * *

Arthur walked through the compound, grimly surveying the scenes of devastation that had been wrought the previous day. The air was still acrid with smoke, and the tension in the camp was so thick that it raised the hairs upon his neck. A part of him thanked God that Saxon had not attacked the previous night, but another part felt sick with worry. All of them here were sitting ducks, and unless he did something about it, soon to be dead ducks. Guinevere walked beside him, her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat, her head down to escape the accusing glares of some of the soldiers. News spread fast at the Wall, and it was no longer a secret that Merlin had conveniently disappeared just as the bombs had gone off.

"It'll be alright," he said quietly, but although her lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, he knew that his words sounded as hollow to her as they did to him.

"Tristan!" Arthur called out to the taciturn northerner who was helping Galahad and a number of refugees clear the entrance to the munitions bunker. "A word please."

The scout left the others without a word and Arthur watched him lope over to them. Glancing over at the people working he felt his gut twist. If the doors to the bunker hadn't been lead lined, or Saxon had had access to stronger explosives, then the whole camp would have gone up like Pompeii.

"How soon, Sir?" Tristan's voice was calm and polite, but the question caught Arthur off guard.

"How soon until what?" The scout's amber eyes held a hint of amusement, but the tension in him reminded the Commander of a race-horse waiting for starters orders.

"Reckon you'd be wanting me to have a look at what Saxon and his bitch are up to. No offence," he said, as an afterthought, glancing at Guinevere.

Arthur shook his head and laughed. "I'm glad that you're on our side. What do you reckon - fancy a walk in the countryside?"

"Nothing I'd like better, Sir." Tristan's eyes positively gleamed. "When?"

"Dusk. No point sending you out there in full daylight to be used as target practice. And before you get too excited this is recon only - no engaging with the enemy. You're no good to us dead." At Tristan's slightly disappointed look he gave a wry smile. "Don't worry, we'll all be fighting soon enough. Do you want to take Merlin's scouts with you?"

The unspoken question hung between them. _Do you trust them to go with you?_

"I'd rather go alone. Less chance for being seen, and less chance of getting caught," he replied after a moments pause. "No offence," he said, glancing at Guinevere, "but I'm better off working on my own."

She nodded and gave a small smile. "Understandable."

"I think it's best we keep this quiet, just incase. Did you get any sleep last night?"

Tristan looked almost guilty. "Some," he said eventually.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, catching the obvious lie. "Well if you can then grab a few hours this afternoon, I want you fresh and alert tonight. Make sure you get something decent to eat too - I'm sure that Kate will oblige you if you ask her."

Tristan abruptly looked away. "Where shall I meet you?"

"The back of the shower barracks at sunset. Make sure that you are well armed, and get Burgess to check your rifle."

Tristan's eyes flashed with irritation, but Arthur held firm. "We've all been under a lot of stress, even the best of us can miss things sometimes - I'm not having anyone dying because of something stupid like a faulty firing pin."

Arthur almost smiled. For all of Tristan's aloof air of danger, for a moment there he'd looked like a little boy being told that he had to share his favourite toy.

"Yes, Sir. Anything else?"

Arthur shook his head. "You have your orders, but remember that they include getting some rest and food."

Tristan gave a grunt that might have been acquiescence before nodding swiftly and jogging back to the munitions bunker. _What are the odds that he follows any of those orders,_ Arthur thought ruefully. Turning towards Guinevere, he was surprised to see her looking over at what was left of the kitchens, a faint smirk upon her lips. Seeing only Kate, the serving girl, sorting undamaged cans of food into piles, Arthur was at a loss as to what had her so amused and said so. She merely smiled at him, her dark eyes bright and knowing and shrugged.

"Girl stuff." Walking off towards the refugee camp, she glanced over her shoulder. "Come on, we've got an army to sort out."

* * *

"It's a splinter, Alice," Gawain said mildly. Holding out his palm he pointed at the small dark mark that marred the fleshy heel of his thumb. "I'm not going to die and I've got work to do."

Alice huffed a lock of her hair out of her eyes and glared at the big blond man. "Either you come with me willingly and I'll get it out with tweezers, or I'll drag you to the infirmary."

Eying Alice's slender form that was a good eight inches shorter than his, Gawain couldn't help smirking. "You and whose army?"

Alice narrowed her eyes and gave a pointed look at his groin. "I didn't say that I'd drag you there by the arm."

"Jesus woman! Don't scare a man like that! " Gawain's blue eyes widened and met Alice's implacable gaze. "What were you, some sort of torture expert for the Mafia before the Txzero?"

Alice's mouth pursed in a smile that she could not entirely hide. "Nope, I was a student. But I had four shelves worth of horror movies and some of them were pretty graphic, so I reckon I'd know what I was doing if I had to, you know.." She glanced down at his crotch again.

Feeling a little hot under the collar, and not entirely out of fear when it came to Alice looking at his crotch, Gawain surprised her by grabbing her hand and marching off towards the infirmary. "Come on then, let's get this over with."

Sarah and Sacha, the two blonde women who had been brought from Merlin's camp looked up as they entered the low building, but no-one else seemed to take much notice of them. After the day before's panic and hustle, the big room was quiet, most of the patients asleep. A dozen or so men and women were in the kitchen disinfecting surgical instruments, and further along in the big room to the right, Alice could hear Dr Pullman, the fort's surgeon giving a lecture to those he had selected to teach.

"Have you got a pair of tweezers?" Gawain asked Sacha, the younger of the two blonde nurses. "Alice has it in her head that my arm is going to drop off if I don't get a splinter out."

Sacha looked confused, but at the frantic head shaking of the girl behind the big Samartian, she stifled a laugh and pretended to check her pockets. "Sorry," she said innocently. "Sarah, got any tweezers on you?" she quietly called to her friend.

Sarah, who had watched the exchange with amusement shook her head. "Sorry. Try the room right at the end, past the old doctors' quarters. There's probably some in a drawer there."

"Thank-you ladies." With a nod and a smile Gawain strode off down the corridor, oblivious to both nurses giving a blushing Alice two thumbs up as she hurried to keep up with him.

The old doctors ' quarters were dark and dingy, set in a little corridor to the left of the main room, and Gawain paused, thinking he'd gone the wrong way.

"This room," Alice said decisively, pushing open a door that was marked EXAMENING ROOM in bold stencilled letters. Gawain eyed the sign and inwardly shivered at the thought of being under the knife of someone who didn't even have basic spelling skills. The room itself wasn't much better. A dull bulb illuminated a drab set of cupboards and shelves set on a wall painted a yellowing white. In the middle of the room a big diagnostic chair sat imposing, and given its lack of use, almost forlorn.

Closing the door behind them, Alice carefully wedged the door shut with the chair that had been sat in the corner.

"There." Carefully patting the stainless steel top of the chair, she didn't look around.

"Alice?" Shutting the door to one of the cabinets, he had started to rummage through, Gawain looked at her with a mixture of concern and surprise. "If the Saxons are going to attack then we won't want to be stuck down here, and I'm pretty sure that a chair isn't going to hold them back if they do."

"It's not to keep back the Saxons." Alice gave him a look as though they were in a play and this was his cue.

Gawain looked at her blankly, utterly confused. "You're afraid of Sarah and Sacha?" he asked incredulously. "Why? What have they done? Do you want me to have a word with…"

"Oh for goodness sake," Alice said in exasperation. "Didn't you ever see a movie before the virus? Pearl Harbour?" Gawain winced. "Armageddon?" Gawain winced again.

"Alice you've got terrible taste in films, but I reckon I'm missing something here."

Alice crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly. "This is the part where the girl says goodbye to the man she really likes before he goes off to fight and probably get killed. I mean I'm no Kate Beckinsale of Liv Tyler, and you're no Ben Affleck or, actually scratch that you're better looking than Ben Affleck - he always had that weird chin thing and…" Noting Gawain's incomprehension she covered her face with her hands. "Oh shit, this was a really bad idea wasn't it. I'm sorry…"

"Alice." Gawain had crossed the room before the first tear of humiliation had had time to traverse her cheek, and gently kissing it away, he tipped her face up and cradled it in his big hands. Dragging her gaze up to meet his warm blue gaze, she couldn't help but feel her embarrassment melt away. "Gorgeous, brave, totally mental Alice." He paused briefly to give her a kiss of such depth and intensity that any hesitation she had felt was swept away. "You could have just asked."

"Read too many romance novels when I was younger I reckon," she mumbled. "Got things a bit over-complicated."

"Might as well simplify things then." Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he smiled at her tenderly. "Are you sure?" She nodded, wide eyes sparkling and lifted her head up to kiss him.

Lifting her up on to the examining table without breaking the kiss, Gawain gathered up Alice's -shirt and with her help drew it up over her head. Her bra was a grubby white, her breasts overflowing from it, and reaching around, he unhooked the clasp and helped her wriggle free of it. Kissing the red marks made where it had dug into tender flesh, he felt rather than heard her breathy giggle.

"God I hate that bra…oh.."

He found one nipple and suckled gently, rolling the other with his fingers. She yelped when he bit down lightly, and despite his almost painful state of arousal he smiled.

"People in the next room, Alice, don't want to disturb them."

"Cocky bastard," she said breathlessly. Pushing him away she fumbled at the buttons on the front of his shirt, and giving up, dragged it down his arms. All she managed to do was trap his arms at his waist, and with a huff of irritation she attacked the bottom few buttons holding the shirt together.

"Sweet Alice," Gawain murmured. Dropping his head he kissed and licked her shoulder and felt her breath panting hot against his belly. _God if he got much harder he was going to come in his pants like a schoolboy.._

She finally got the buttons undone, and made no time in unbuckling his belt and his flies, shoving both his cammos and his boxers down in one go. As his straining erection sprang free he could not resist a groan, and taking him in her hand, Alice looked up at him wickedly.

"Quiet now, people in the next room."

"I'll give you quiet," he bit out through clenched teeth. She'd already kicked off her shoes, so it only took a moment to strip off her jeans and underwear. Alice gave a yelp when he unceremoniously flipped her onto her back and hauled her legs over his shoulders, but he noticed, when he looked up from between her legs, her silence was more to do with the fact that she was biting down hard on her fist rather than anything else. He pushed her hard with his tongue and lips, feeling her thighs grip him, her core clench around his fingers. Once, twice, she came, until he felt her hand on his forehead pushing him away.

"No more," she gasped. "Please Gawain I can't.."

He lowered her legs and she let them hang from the side of the bed, rubbery as a rag doll. Struggling up onto her shoulders, she looked at him with glazed eyes, dark hair plastered to flushed skin. Swallowing hard, she gave a vague nod towards the top right cupboard. " Condoms. In the back, behind the bandages."

He'd planned on just pulling out before he came, but this was a far better option. On shaky legs he made the few steps to the cupboard, and shoving aside a neat row of bandages, found a box of Durex's finest. Ripping over the top of the box he scattered a little silver fountain of foil wrapped squares on the bed, and Alice gave a breathless laugh.

"Jesus, how much stamina do you have?" Knocking away his hand , she grabbed a packet, ripped it open with her teeth and rolled it down his cock so slowly that Gawain had to bite down hard so as not to lose control.

"Alice.." he gritted out.

"'s ok," she murmured. "I've got you." Positioning him at her entrance, she tugged at his shoulders and he slid in as though they were two parts of the same puzzle. Gawain held still for a moment, holding his breath, sweat rolling down his face. Alice stroked her hands over his broad shoulders, his trembling arms, and when he opened his eyes, she met his almost desperate kiss with equal passion. He started thrusting slow and easy, but both of them were near the brink , and it wasn't long before he was riding her hard. Reaching down he stroked where they were joined in time to their thrusts, and when Alice bit down hard on his shoulder and he felt her shudder beneath him it wasn't long before he followed her over the edge.

For a moment he lay upon her dazed and sweaty, vaguely aware of her breasts squashed against his chest, her hand smoothing down his spine like some smooth lullaby half remembered.

"Gawain?" Alice's voice was hoarse, and lifting his head, he realised that it wasn't just from the afterglow of passion.

"Sorry." He felt so boneless that falling on his ass was a very real possibility, but without much grace he managed to get off her, discard the condom in the trash bin and haul himself up on the bed. Propping himself on one elbow, he tucked Alice against him. "You alright?"

She dropped her head back and studied him sleepily. "Perfect. You?"

"Reckon you've worn me out." Giving a deep sigh, he nuzzled her shoulder. "You planned all this then." It wasn't a question.

"Not really." She wriggled around to face him. "I mean I thought about me and you before." Her face flushed, and Gawain smiled.

"I thought about you and me too."

"I dunno." She frowned. "No point waiting is there? Might not be a tomorrow - might not even be a tonight. Fulcinia liked Dagonet and look what happened to her." She felt her eyes well up with tears and blinked them away rapidly. "Probably could have done without a condom - not like even if I get pregnant I'd live to have the baby."

"Hey." Gawain tucked his hand under her chin. "None of that alright. You give up now then they've already won. You've got me watching your back, you've got the rest of my boys and we've all got Arthur."

"Arthur's one man," Alice whispered. "All of you are human."

"And the Saxons are animals, so that gives us a head start." Giving a reassuring smile and letting Alice go, he sat up and shoved the discarded, and now slightly squashed, condoms back in their box before putting it back in the cupboard. "If I had a choice then I'd stay here forever, but we've got duties."

"The hell with duties," Alice murmured, wriggling back into her clothes. Gawain, a faster dresser, waited for by the door, but she motioned him back to the bed.

"Strictly professional," she said wryly when he raised an eyebrow at her. Taking a pair of tweezers from a drawer and his palm in her hand, she carefully drew out the tiny splinter. "See," she said, giving the tiny wound a kiss. "Now you won't get gangrene and have to have your arm amputated."

"My thanks." Ruffling her hair, he took her hand, and led her back through the medical bay. Amongst the sleeping or medicated wounded, Sarah and Sacha looked angelic - their white dresses and bright hair gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Both looked up as she passed and gave sweet non-judgemental smiles, and Alice smiled back at them. Squeezing Gawain's hand she squared her jaw as they climbed the steps back up to the ravaged fort.

_There were still things worth fighting for. _

**A/N. Umm yeah *blushes* If f anyone has any comments to make on this chapter then I would appreciate it. The scene between Gawain and Alice was pretty tricky to write so any feedback is more than welcome. Next chapter will be a lot more Tristan based for obvious reasons.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - really, I do appreciate it. (cheers lovely anony-mice Claire, anon, Spy girl, Rachel, Lisa, Claire and my girl Arre)**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

The sun was sinking into an improbably purple and orange sky when Tristan slipped into the forest. Arthur had debriefed him, and he was clear as to what his duty was, but breathing in the air that was just starting to become chilly, the scout almost smiled. Solitary by nature, being in such close proximity to so many people had chafed at him in the past weeks, and even though his presence in the forest was dangerous and hardly recreational, he couldn't help but savour the freedom of being alone.

Ignoring the well worn path in front of him, Tristan skirted around the Wall and picked a path up the hillside, being careful to stay low and keep to the mossy banks rather than the pretty, but noisy beds of leaves that carpeted the forest floor. Being up high would make him a target should he be careless enough to be caught in silhouette, but would also give him the advantage should he have to take down any of Saxon's men. A couple of rabbits bolted for cover when he was almost upon them, but aside from that the forest was silent. _Too silent_, he thought uneasily. The camp couldn't be too far away, so where were the guards? Slowing his pace, Tristan stopped at a huge beech tree and leant against it. Keeping his breathing shallow he concentrated on listening to his surroundings. There was nothing for several long minutes; the trees whispered, their leaves rustling, their branches creaking. It took a moment for him to discern the sound of voices in the distance from the background noise, but when he did, the step forward he made in uncharacteristic eagerness both saved his life and gave away his position.

The side of the tree trunk he had been leaning against exploded in a shower of splinters as a bullet slammed into it, and rolling to the ground and keeping his back covered by another tree, Tristan winced as another bullet kicked up the earth a few inches from his foot. _Bastard's got a silencer,_ he thought, adrenaline sharpening his mind and tensing his muscles so that he felt as though electricity rather than blood was pumping through his veins. His heart, thudding beneath his ribs, seemed hardly to belong to him as he studied the trajectory of the bullets that had been fired. Finding the shooter without the sound of gunfire to give away his or her position was difficult, _but not impossible_, he thought grimly. Chancing a quick look from around the tree, he was rewarded by a flash of dark blue as someone scrabbled around in the dense bracken thirty metres away. Tristan's rifle was in his hands and fired before the other man had time to realise that he had been spotted. The crack of gunfire and the resulting scream from the downed man sent a group of crows clattering into the air, and giving up on stealth, Tristan bounded over to his attacker, being careful to keep cover between himself and the downed man.

Saxon's gunman looked at him with wide, panicky eyes, his chest wet with blood. _Lung shot, _Tristan thought dispassionately. _Nasty way to die though. _Pulling his knife from his boot, he cut the man's throat quickly and quietly before searching the body. Since he was already armed there was no point in taking a gun that he couldn't carry, so he left that and the spare ammo. Turning out the man's pockets he came across nothing of interest apart from the revelation of a tattoo on the man's hip. Tristan looked at the crudely inked symbol of a bunch of twigs tied into a bundle with an axe protruding from the middle and grimaced with distaste. _Saxons' s symbol. It seemed that the mad man was marking his followers now._

He heard the crack of rifle fire a couple of seconds after the bullet slammed into his bicep and almost a minute before shock abated and he truly felt the pain.

_Telescopic sight, _he thought woozily, _he definitely hadn't been followed - or had he? _Scrambling for deeper cover, he half slid, half tumbled into the cavern ripped up by the roots of a fallen tree. His sleeve, dark to begin with was now darker and sodden with blood. _If they've hit an artery you're fucked, _he thought with almost clinical detachment. Wriggling out of his belt seemed to take forever, but eventually he got it free of his belt loops and wrapped around his arm. Tightening it sent pain that had been almost dormant flaring so hot and bright that stars flashed before his eyes and he was certain for a terrifying moment that he was going to black out. Turning his head, he threw up instead, glad that he had ignored Arthur's instructions and had been too tense to eat anything more than a handful of biscuits before he'd come out.

The pattern of leaves flecked with spittle swam before his eyes, but hearing the crunch of boots upon leaves, Tristan forced himself to focus. He could barely move his right arm which probably meant that the bone was broken; the arm was almost useless, and therefore his rifle was too. Taking the Glock from its holster, he cocked the safety off. His movements were clumsy, and Tristan forced himself to concentrate. He wasn't ambidextrous so any shots he got off would have to be done at close range or he'd just be using up ammo. Barely breathing, he listened to the approaching men. _Two, _he thought. _No three… _

He was as fast as he could be under the circumstances, but although he managed to shoot one of the men in the leg, his attackers were clear headed and relentless. A burly dark haired man leaped upon the fallen tree and hauled him up by his hair, his red haired companion yanking the Glock out of his hand and punching him in the face for good measure.

_Smart, I'll give them that._ The words were sharp and clear in Tristan's head, all else a dull roar of pain. His rifle was kicked away but Tristan twisted to the side and tried to grab it anyway. One of the men behind him kicked him in the ribs, knocking him sideways and igniting already tender flesh into a bright fireball of agony. His wounded arm was wrenched up behind him, and Tristan felt his flesh tear and the hot flood of blood soak his sleeve. Gritting his teeth, it was sheer stubbornness that prevented him from crying out.

"Fucking bastard shot me!" The bald man that Tristan had shot in the leg sounded more outraged than anything, and Tristan wondered blearily if he would be complaining several octaves higher if the man had taken the hit a little higher. Limping over, the big man gave the fallen scout a hefty whack to the side with the butt of his rifle, and for the second time in as many minutes Tristan had the breath knocked out of him. "Let's just kill the bastard."

"Zara wants him, Dan," the dark haired man said irritably. "So lay off alright? I'm not explaining to her or the boss that we had one of Castus's boys all ready and willing to talk." He peered at Tristan's bloodied face and grimaced. "Well able to talk, and instead you turned him into mincemeat."

"He's going to die anyway," the red haired man said idly, flipping closed the walkie talkie he had been carrying. "Get the glory then the guts." He smiled at his own joke. "Get it? Like "guts before glory" only…" His voice trailed off when two big men dressed in black made their way over the rise of the hill. " Look lively, Zara's coming."

From his vantage point on his knees, blood trickling into his eye from where one of Saxons men had knocked him against one of the tree roots, Tristan watched as the two men broke ranks and revealed the old woman that followed them."

She looked ancient, serene and utterly impassive to his condition.

"Tristan." Bending down, her dark eyes gleamed in her wrinkled face, and Tristan recoiled when she moved past her guards and studied him with satisfaction. "I thought that I'd have to come and get you, but look - here you are. Divine will; sometimes it surprises even the best of us."

"Or the most deranged," Tristan retorted. He could feel the Bowie knife tucked in his boot, and from the corner of his eye the Glock that his captors had discarded, but with his arms held securely behind him he had no means of getting to them.

"Oh you aren't buying into Castus's nonsense are you?" The old woman gave him a pitying look. "You belong with us." Zara's smile was sweet but her eyes were hungry. "You know what it is to hunt, to chase, to kill. You ripped apart those who defiled your Isolde."

"Don't you say her name," Tristan snarled. Twisting forward he almost blacked out from the pain when the man who held him yanked him backwards.

"All that anger, all that hate." The old gypsy woman ran a calloused finger down his cheek. "You've been cooped up too long, - my boy will let you off the leash if you let him."

"Your boy? So it's true, Saxon is your son." Tristan dredged up the energy to laugh. "The sadist you raised to murder men, women and children and defile their corpses."

"He does what is needed to be done," Zara snarled, her dark eyes almost black with anger. "So did you. Tristan Kelly the monster of the north. I've seen it in the cards, I've seen it from the old ones."

"You could have seen it in a dozen fucking newspapers you crazy bitch," Tristan spat. "All this Romany bullshit is nothing but smoke and mirrors. What, you've got this lot believing you?" he gave a contemptuous look at Zara's guard. "They look pretty thick, but I'm surprised that they are _that_ thick."

"Shut your mouth." The dark man who held him yanked his arm up another couple of inches, and Tristan bit back a cry. Stumbling slightly he let himself fall back against the big man, and felt the ridge of a pistol tucked into the man's belt.

"You believed me," Zara said serenely. "Remember our little moment in Merlin's camp? I almost had the boys take you out then. Poor sad Tristan pining over his lost love. If you just come quietly then you needn't worry about anything ever again. Just do what you're good at and reap the benefits. It's more than that idealistic Commander can offer you."

"No, " Tristan gritted out. "Where's Merlin."

Zara laughed and gave a knowing look to the guard beside her. "Go on Karl, our guest would like a chat with Merlin. Why don't you invite him to join us? Dan, unless you want to bleed to death out here I suggest you go and find the doctor."

The big man in black cammos smiled and jogged back towards the Saxon camp, followed by Dan, who gave Tristan a look of utter hatred before limping off.

"Now where were we?" Zara said thoughtfully.

"You were confessing to being a lying bitch and raising a psychopath," Tristan said. The man that held him seemed to be relaxing his guard somewhat, and with two of the Saxons gone Tristan tried to scan the remaining members of the group without being too obvious about it. _Dark haired bloke behind him, red head to the left. Zara was watching him like a hawk would a rabbit, but her remaining guard looked bored and didn't seem to be paying attention._

"Saxon is a visionary," Zara retorted angrily. "You cannot possibly understand…" Her voice trailed off when Tristan's eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground, the man holding him letting go in a panic.

"Shit. Zara, is he…" The guard didn't have a chance to finish the sentence. Tristan had grabbed the knife from his boot and slammed it up and back into his eye before the words had left his mouth. Grabbing Zara who was too surprised to struggle, he felt the bullets fired by her guard slam into her body as he twisted sideways, and grabbing the dead guard's gun, he managed to raise his injured arm and finish off both the red haired man and Zara's guard with sloppy, but effective shots, using the old woman as a shield.

"What the fuck?" The man who had been sent to fetch Merlin paused at the top of the hill, the old man he had been dragging along with him forgotten as he took in the carnage. Merlin took one look at Tristan who looked bloodied and half mad and dropped to the ground in unspoken understanding. The last of the scout's bullets almost cut the guard in half, and scrambling to his feet as quickly as he could given that his hands were tied, Merlin ignored the warmth of blood and whatever else that had splattered over his shirt. Hurrying down the hill, he grabbed the knife that was still wedged in one of Saxon's soldiers' eye and yanked it out. He tried to tune out the sliding squelching noise and quickly sawed through the twine that bound his wrists.

"Tristan?" Rubbing the circulation back into his hands he looked worriedly at Castus's scout. The wiry man was slumped against the fallen tree, his breathing rapid, his skin paper white. The man raised heavy lids over irises dark with pain, and realising that they had no time, Merlin crossed the space between them and grabbed the arm that was dark with blood. Tristan snarled with pain, but dodging the half hearted blow that he aimed at him, Merlin was relieved to see that the younger man was at least a little more coherent. "We've got to go. Now!" Slinging the scout's good arm over his shoulder he forced his rescuer into a shuffling jog, thanking the gods that he knew the forest better than Saxon and his men. The small natural shelter provided by overhanging rocks by the river wasn't more than ten minutes away, although getting there seemed to take an eternity. Dropping the almost dead weight of the scout in the darkness, he reached for the little emergency kit tucked in a crevice in the wall, and finding it untampered with, Merlin felt fairly certain that their hiding place was safe.

He bandaged Tristan's arm as best he could and managed to get some of the bottle of water they kept there down the man's throat, but watching the scout's shallow breathing, Merlin prayed to all the gods he knew that his rescuer would have the strength to make it back to the fort.

For a couple of hours the Saxons raced through the forest, anger and grief making them both volatile and careless. Merlin kept his head down, kept an eye on Tristan and waited for them to pass by. No-one alive knew that Tristan was hurt, and so the logical conclusion would be that they had both escaped back to the camp. To attack Hadrians Wall would take serious planning and firepower, and so, confident that most of Saxon's men would be meeting to discuss tactics, Merlin shook Tristan awake and together they made their way back to the fort.

Each step was an effort, each minute an eternity, but when the gates to the fort opened to them and Dagonet lifted Tristan's buckling body away from his grasp, Merlin accepted his daughter's sweet embrace like a gift from above.

* * *

Tristan struggled towards wakefulness and immediately wished that he hadn't.

His head hurt, his ribs hurt, and in trying to reach the glass of water that was sat tantalisingly close on the table beside the bed, he realised that those pains were merely the previews to the agony that shot through his arm. Dropping back on the bed, he felt sweat drip down his forehead, but didn't have the energy to wipe it away. The harsh lights of the medical wing hurt his eyes, but at least it was quiet. For a brief panicky moment he wondered if he was the only one left alive in the place.

"Here." The voice was as sweet and welcome as the glass of water that was put to his lips. Gulping down a few mouthfuls, he watched Kate as she took it away and put it back on the table.

"You can have a bit more in a minute," she said, "but too much too fast'll make you sick."

"I'll be alright." Tristan said the words more out of habit than anything, but watching Kate's eyes narrow he would have smiled if he had the energy.

"Two broken ribs, a gash on your head that needed two stitches, a broken arm and a good pint of your blood currently fertilizing the forest out there. Yeah, Tristan, you're fucking golden."

"Merlin ok?" he murmured. The water was helping him get his bearings a little, or maybe it was Kate? She looked furious, her brown eyes flashing like the stone his aunt had worn on a chain… Topaz. That was it.

"He's fine. You on the other hand… You _have_ heard of back-up right?" She tapped a vial of something with a little more force than seemed necessary, and inserted a needle into it. "If you want to commit suicide then come to me, I'll do it for you."

"Is that what this is?" Tristan asked wearily. Even breathing hurt, but he concentrated on the light playing off Kate's hair and the soft brush of her hand as she gently turned his uninjured arm over and found a vein.

"Idiotic man." The words were harsh but her voice was soft as she slid the hypodermic into his skin. "This is for the pain. You're not going anywhere anytime soon."

He felt the sting of the needle, the coldness of the morphine as it entered his vein.

"Everyone goes eventually." The blessed numbness spread through him, and it was with difficulty that Tristan kept his eyes on the woman perched on the side of his bed.

"You said that you lost your wife," Kate said quietly. "I know that you probably don't want to talk about it, but you know, if you did, then I'll listen."

Against the pristine white of the pillow, Tristan's face was grey, his eyes dark against the smudges that surrounded them. When he spoke his voice was scratchy and hoarse. Kate tugged up the blanket that was folded up at the bottom of the bed, at a loss to know what else she could do for him.

"You first. Tell me something about you." His northern accent was accentuated either by by the drug or tiredness, and it took a while for her to work out what the semi-concious man had said. Glancing down, Kate noted the proximity of their fingertips. Tristan couldn't move his injured arm much so it wasn't as though he could reach out to her, and she…. _Move your hand across two inches of linen you dozy cow,_ she thought to herself. _You practically threw yourself at the man the other night - what's the problem?_ Instead she tucked her hands in her lap, curled her legs neatly beneath her, and started talking.

"I had a fiancee before this. I mean you know, the virus and everything." She gave the man on the bed a smile of such rueful sweetness, that Tristan felt his heart clench even through the morphine haze. ""Before", that's a weird word isn't it. Like BC or AD. Maybe this'll be BV and AV - you know - "After the Virus" and "Before the Virus" if there are enough of us to write history books a bit later on." She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and gave a huff of a laugh. "Yeah, I know, stop babbling Kate. Right then." She fixed her eyes on the shadowy corner of the med bay. "I had a really nice bloke; Ian. We met at uni. He was a philosophy graduate doing his masters degree and I was almost finished with my Art and Design course. One of my friends set us up. I thought he was a pretentious twat and he thought I was one of those arty-farty nonsense girls."

"But you fell in love anyway," Tristan murmured.

"Yeah." Kate dropped her gaze to her hands. "Never did get the honeymoon though - we were going to go to Goa." She laughed. "Going to Goa; the big dream. I buried him four weeks after we were married."

"The virus?" It was hard to keep his eyes open, but Tristan struggled to stay awake. This was Kate without her defences up, and that was a rare thing indeed.

"Yes - BV now AV. It's getting hard to remember how things were before." Wiggling around, she smiled at him. "He was nothing at all like you. You'd have had nothing at all in common.

"'cept Kate." Tristan's voice was slurred even to his own ears, and he didn't feel the soft kiss dropped upon his forehead before he surrendered to sleep.

**A/N: thanks very much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter - much appreciated.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Zara's dead." Guinevere looked as though she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and Lancelot watched the young woman pace the floor of Arthur's office warily. After Tristan had been dragged in half dead by Merlin, they'd been debriefed by the old hippy, but the story still didn't seem quite real to any of the four people who had gathered to work out what to do next.

"As the proverbial doornail".

"Lance..." His brother's voice was low, and Lancelot understood the underlying warning, but he was more interested in watching Guinevere. They still hadn't found out who had planted the bombs at the base, and since the last time he had trusted a woman he'd ended up in jail, he was interested to see Guinevere's reaction to the news. Arthur might be shagging her, but that didn't give him any reason for he himself to trust her.

The dark haired woman gave him a smile as though she had read his thoughts. Or perhaps just his body language. "Back off Lancelot. I could have taken out most of the camp if I'd wanted to by now, including your brother." She gave a swift half smile at the Commander who leaned against the desk in the corner. "My dad and I are on your side. Zara might have fooled us for a while, but the bitch used us. She used us so that Saxon could slaughter people." Turning to Arthur, she shoved clenched fists into the pockets of the hooded top she wore. "Saxon is going to be beyond pissed about this. Whatever time we had before he strikes probably just got cut in half."

"And that's if we're lucky." Merlin let out a tired breath from the overstuffed armchair he was ensconced in. "How many of Saxon's men did your scout kill? four? five?"

"Go team murderous bastard," Lancelot murmured, earning himself a glare from everyone else in the room.

"The lot of them will be out for blood," the old man continued wearily. "Reasoning didn't work when we could match them with men and firepower. Now..." he gave a gesture that encompassed everywhere around them. "There's no way we can hold them back."

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face and wished that there was an easy answer to their predicament. Running wasn't an option. Not now. Not with nearly a hundred and fifty refugees and several dozen wounded. Even if they tried to put a little distance between themselves and Saxon there was no-where to go.

One way or another this battle would have to end here.

"You're right," he said quietly. "The clock is ticking, and Saxon is going to want revenge. But that in itself gives us an advantage." He looked over at Merlin. "The bastard is going to be driven by rage, and that makes him unstable and prone to mistakes. From what you've told me and what I know of him, he's going to want to attack us guns blazing – we've got to be cleverer than that. We've got resources, we just have to use them to our best advantage."

"We're ok for firepower, Arthur," Lancelot said dubiously, "but we're down to maybe thirty decent soldiers and forty or so men and women that know the difference between a Barretta and a baguette. It's no good having the artillery if we don't have anyone to fire it."

"I've got an idea about that," Arthur replied a faint smile playing about his lips. "Han's still in the bunker isn't he?" the commander asked Merlin.

The older man nodded. "He and Burgess are putting together some IUD's to greet Saxon when he visits."

"Guinevere? Can you go and get him?" Arthur asked the woman beside him. "I'm going to need his help with this."

Guinevere nodded and left the room swiftly, closing the door behind her.

"Umm, guys, not to point out the elephant in the room, but isn't there something we need to address here?" Lancelot raised his eyebrows in disbelief when both Merlin and Arthur looked at him blankly. "A couple of days after your lot come here", he nodded at Merlin, "your lot including at least one traitor and a bonafide explosives expert, the place gets bombed to shit. From the inside."

"It wasn't Han," Merlin said firmly.

"And you believe that because...." Lancelot prompted.

"Two of the bodies nailed to crosses on the M1 were his wife and daughter. Saxon found them when he was off scouting for food." Giving a mirthless smile when Lancelot obviously had no reply to that, he continued. "He's found what was left of the bomb that was supposed to take out the munitions bunker, and his guess is that whoever planted it is ex-IRA – at a push a Taliban extremist that got stuck here when the virus struck, but it's unlikely that they'd side with a heathen like Saxon."

"So we're probably looking for an Irish bloke."

"Or woman," Arthur corrected. "There are fifteen in camp and they're being watched."

"News travels fast here," Lancelot said seriously. "Whoever they are must know that time is running out."

"And that's what we're betting on." Merlin looked at Arthur who smiled grimly.

"Whatever they had planned will have to be put into place fast, and once we've got the bastard we can derail Saxon's plans and use them to our own advantage."

Lancelot gave a chuckle. "You're going to use Saxon's own bomber against him?" Looking up, he met his brother's hazel eyes. "I misjudged you bruv – I always thought that you didn't have a creative bone in your body, but that's downright poetic."

"Yeah, well we've got to catch them first," Arthur replied drily. "Until then you've got your orders – get on with it."

* * *

Dagonet looked at the checklist that Sarah, the nurse with a pretty smile and a box full of morphine had given him and wondered what had happened to the world. Given that the medical quarters were mostly underground, and as such fairly safe from gunfire and small bombs, it made sense that the elderly, children and women too young to fight would shelter there when the inevitable attack came. But still. The list he had been given wasn't just to make sure that everyone got into the building safely.

If Saxon won then the nurses had the means necessary to end the lives of the men, women and children sheltered here should they want it. The thought made him almost physically sick, but there was no way around it. An overdose of morphine was better than being subjected to Saxon's men's torture for god knows how long. Ugly enough as that was however, the fact was that they simply didn't have enough drugs to do the job.

Shifting the box Burgess had given him under his arm, he drew the grubby curtain away from the med bay that concealed Tristan's bed.

_He looked like shit warmed over, _was his first thought. The scout was awake, but nowhere near well. Skin pale, the stitches that marred his forehead seemed more obtrusive than the tattoos that marked his cheekbones. Slitted brown eyes watched him approach warily, but his mouth twitched in a faint smile, which was about as close to an affectionate "hello" as Dagonet had ever seen from him.

"Arthur's already asked me," Tristan said before Dagonet could say anything. "The girls start things, I finish it. For those who come to me and ask for a way out."

The big ex squaddie shifted his weight uncomfortably and placed the Glock 9mm and several rounds of ammunition by the bed. "Sarah and Sacha have what's left of the morphine. Those who want to will go to them first if the worst comes to the worst. Those who are left when the supplies run out will come to you...

Dagonet sat on the end of the bed and studied the injured scout. "If the time comes, do think you'll be able to do it?"

"Aren't you the optimistic one." Tristan gave a huff of a laugh and winced as his broken ribs protested the movement. "So much for Zara's happy clappy lets all live happily ever after."

"Yeah, well you used the double faced bitch as a bullet shield if you don't remember," Dagonet pointed out. "I reckon she didn't see that one coming either."

Tristan gave a faint shrug and studied Dagonet's face. The big man looked tired, his eyes dull. Comfort wasn't something that he was familiar with giving or receiving, but he did his best.

"'spect you want to kill the bastards who killed Fulciana."

The ex-squaddie took an inordinately long time to re-arrange the ammo clips in the box on the bedside table before answering.

"We weren't..." he shook his head and shrugged. "But we might have been eventually."

Tristan nodded. "Still. I'm sorry."

"Why was your wife killed?" It was a brutally honest question, and had most people asked it, the scout would either have hit them or ignored them, but the weary compassion in Dagonet's eyes made it seem right to talk. After all, they might all be dead by the morning so what was the harm?

"I was a game keeper after I left school. Loved it. Met Isolde at the library because I had to look up partridge disease; there's romance for you." He gave a rueful smile. "Fell in love and married her." He gave Dagonet an almost embarrassed look. "Fuck knows why she wanted me – she was beautiful. Sweet. We had a boy together – Anthony. And you know, just having them near... that was like..." He struggled for words, and Dagonet felt like a complete bastard for bringing up the subject. Most of them knew bits and pieces about Tristan's past, but none of them had actually dared ask outright what had happened to him or his family. When Tristan fixed him with determined amber eyes he understood. This was Tristan's confession, and poor excuse as he was, he was his priest.

"The bloke I worked for – Lord McBride died. Nice bloke he was, but his son Gareth was a nasty piece of work. He took a shine to Isolde. She'd have nothing of him, but he pestered her. I don't know how bad it got because she was scared to tell me. She didn't want me to lose my job, and the house was part of the estate. It was Burns night..." He stopped and took a breath. "Gavin, rang me – I'd been called out because the deer fence was down and what with the electric fence short circuiting and half a dozen hinds trapped it was fucking chaos up the moor. He said that he'd seen Gareth and a couple of other men go into my house and was going to go in after them. I told him to ring the police." He stopped and took as deep a breath as his injured ribs would allow. "Fucking idiot must have gone in when he didn't get a signal on his phone. When I got there he was dead on the steps to the house and the whole place was blazing. I tried. I really tried..." Tristan's voice tailed off and Dagonet looked away, sure that Tristan would be embarrassed at him seeing the tears that ran down his face. "There was no getting in, and people kept dragging me away. There were police and firemen... When the ambulance took Gavin away they left his phone behind on the driveway. It was dark, but I saw it flash. He'd left it on – for proof I suppose. Gavin always liked his toys. It was one of those video phone mobiles. There was a video of Gareth and his men... and Isolde. She kept fighting them off and they didn't stop. Dunno if they meant to kill Anthony, but he died in the fire once they had finished with my wife. I think she was dead by then. I hope that she was dead by then."

"Tristan..." Dagonet reached out uncertainly and touched the scout's shoulder, but when he looked up at him he knew that the younger man wasn't really seeing him.

"They tell me that I knocked out two policemen. I don't remember that. I do remember driving off, getting the rifle from the garage at the main house and shooting the bastards. I think they begged me, but I'm not sure. There was a lot of blood and noise." The scout seemed to mentally shake himself and gave Dagonet a wry smile. "Don't remember that much afterwards. Remember waking up in a jail cell the next day though, and I remember the trial. Turns out the law doesn't much like toffs getting butchered by the staff. Dunno how they covered up Isolde and Tony's murder though. Couldn't exactly get the papers when I was inside.... Isolde's mum wrote me a letter when I was locked up though; they're buried by their granddad. That's something isn't it?"

"Yeah." Dagonet met Tristan's eyes. Reaching out, he squeezed the scout's hand. "You did right by them."

Tristan nodded and briefly returned the pressure before letting go.

"Thanks."

Dagonet stood and gave the man in the bed a last glance back, at a loss for words. "Tris..."

"Fuck off and kill the Saxon bastards," Tristan said with a weary smile. "I'll do what I have to if I have to, but I'd rather not."

With a weary chuckle the big squaddie left, pulling the curtain back behind him, and having the tact not to acknowledge Kate who stood frozen in place just beyond the doorway.

* * *

Being a spy was rubbish, Galahad decided. James Bond, Jason Bourne – they made it look easy and cool, but in real life? It was boring and time consuming. Sure he had the gun, but the only girls around were more worried about their potential death at the hands of the Saxons than striking sexy poses, which he had to admit was probably for the best. Thomas, the Irish bloke that he had been told to keep an eye on seemed pretty innocuous given that he was pushing seventy and looked at the gun he had been given as though it were an object from outer space, but Arthur had given orders and he wasn't about to disobey his commander.

Even if it did seem a lot like glorified babysitting.

The group of twenty men and women he had been teaching the basics of weaponry to were all busy reassembling their guns, and although he should have been concentrating, Galahad felt his attention wander.

Over the far side of the camp he could see Gawain, his blonde hair catching the light and making him easy to find. Alice wasn't with him for once, and Galahad stifled a smile. The man had come back to camp after going to the medical quarters yesterday with a smile that was only slightly less subtle than a sign around his neck pronouncing himself "freshly laid". Of course the bastard had then refused to share any salacious details which was just rubbing salt in the wound really.

"I'm gonna go to the bog lad," Thomas said, interrupting Galahad's train of thought. "The bladder isn't what it used to be if you know what I mean."

_Too much information, _Galahad thought, but nodding at the old man he smiled. "Ok. When you're back we'll go through re-loading with the others and then we should be done.

"Right you are." The old man wandered off, and Galahad watched him go, leaving a good minute before he got up to follow him. "Back in a minute – don't try and reload until I get back", Galahad told his makeshift class. Walking over to the building that contained the toilets, he inwardly sighed_. Everyone else was preparing for battle; making bombs, sorting out artillery, and what was he doing? Going to listen to an old man taking a piss. _A thought struck him and he paused, looking back. His "class" seemed to be doing from a range of "reasonably competent" to "never should be allowed to hold a firearm" at reassembling their guns, but where was Thomas' weapon? If he hadn't left it behind then.. _Oh Shit! _Breaking into a jog, Galahad found his own weapon and approached the building in time to see Thomas disappear through the side door.

Following the man as quietly as he could, he watched as Thomas fished something out of the small bag that he had concealed under his coat.

"Put it down," Galahad said with what he hoped was a commanding voice. Keeping his Glock aimed squarely at the old man's head, he approached slowly. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

Thomas gave an incredulous laugh and threw the bag at Galahad who instinctively jumped backwards. Drawing his own gun, he studied the younger man with amusement. "Not too bright are you, boy? Giving the enemy handguns – not that I don't appreciate it, but the irony in killing you with it seems a bit much doesn't it?"

"Put it down." Galahad kept his voice calm and his hands steady. "There's no-where for you to go."

The old man gave a snort of laughter. "Come off it boy, the only place worth going is with the winning team, and I hate to say it, but that's not with pretty boy Castus and his noble speeches. Sorry. Nothing personal." He pulled the trigger and a shot rang out.

Galahad flinched, before striding forward and punching Thomas squarely in the face. Looking down with not a little satisfaction, he reached down, grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him up, jamming his gun firmly against his ribs.

"Do you honestly think I'd have given you live rounds, you murdering, bombing fuckwit? So much for being on the winning team." Thomas dug his heels in, refusing to move, but when Galahad moved his gun lower and whispered "Arthur wants you alive, but he didn't specify in one piece – it's not like you need balls at your age anyway," he let himself be escorted to the commander's office without another protest.

**A/N: I'm really sorry that I've taken ages to update - my computer decided to die in a dramatic and fiery way (seriously, it was like being in a Roland Emmerich movie. Well one with a teeny tiny budget anyway and with less national landmarks being destroyed unless you count a bit of my rug and the singed whiskers of Mr Tibbs my cat). I now have a shiny new computer which actually takes less than a quarter of an hour to boot up - yay! **

**So updates will be faster now *touch wood* - not too long to go until we're done now, my pretties. As always thankyou so much to everyone who is following the story, and big hugs to the reviewers. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me. (Rated M for a reason – PM me if you want a pg version of the chapter).**

_Had there ever been a time when her biggest problems had been balancing her checkbook and deciding what to get her niece for Christmas?_ Kate wondered_. _She froze as Dagonet drew back the curtain that separated Tristan from the rest of the ward and didn't meet his eyes. The big man was kind enough to leave without saying anything, and for that she was grateful. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she hadn't wanted to interrupt the conversation either, and once she'd heard what the two men were talking about she couldn't bring herself to walk away.

_It made sense, _she acknowledged, and her lack of surprise at the plan to give the refugees an option other than whatever the Saxons had planned for them was in itself a surprise. The world had changed, and so it seemed had her priorities. Survival had always been the baseline that had influenced the things she had done to stay alive, but now? Hell she'd go out fighting if she could, but if there truly was no choice but surrendering to the Saxons, a bullet to the head would be quicker than whatever they'd do to her if she were caught.

Looking at the curtain before her, Kate pictured the man behind it. After Germanius had claimed her as his personal plaything, sex had been the last thing on her mind, but last night she had dreamed of the northerner. He seemed almost as wary of her as she was of his fellow soldiers, but there was a pull between them that was hard to deny. Touching another person for pleasure seemed a distant memory, and by the way he seemed reluctant to reciprocate it wasn't any different for the scout. Given what she had heard of his story that was hardly surprising. Both of them were all sorts of messed up so it would be a really good idea to just turn around and walk away.

But still.. Whatever it was between them wasn't going to go away, and neither of them were in a position to avoid each other. _Even in sleep, _Kate thought ruefully. Given the state of the world it was kind of irritating that even her dreams _(which come on, should have been controllable, sensible, and not lets-think-up-sexyfuntime-when-you're-probably-about-to-get-blown-to-pieces thank-you-very-much) _did their own thing and left her to deal with the aftermath.

_It was probably Freud's fault, _she decided. She'd written an essay on him when she'd been at university and obviously something had stuck in her brain._ Or she was just odd and had been alone too long. _Last night she had imagined Tristan's hands upon her, his lips against hers and had woken so restless and frustrated that she had touched herself to relieve the ache between her legs for the first time since she could remember .

_The little death, _that was the term the French used when it came to orgasming, Kate remembered. Kind of ironic that the last bloke to make her come, albeit unknowingly, was the same one who might literally end her life in the next twenty four hours. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or afraid, and instead settled for being bold. Shoving aside the curtain, she entered what passed for Tristan's room.

* * *

The sharp intake of breath was a hint, but it was the smell of the food and the silence that really gave away Kate's presence, Tristan thought. Now that Fulcinia was dead it would only have been her or Alice delivering food, and the younger girl still had enough naiveté to either barge into the conversation or betray her presence more obviously.

Tristan wondered how long Kate had been listening to the story he had shared with Dagonet before he decided that it didn't really matter. He knew things about her that she would obviously rather not share, and so it seemed only fair that she knew a little more about him. The fact that a curtain prevented him from seeing the horror in her eyes at knowing the things he had done was just a bonus. With that in mind it was almost a surprise when Kate pushed open the curtain and looked at him thoughtfully rather than with the condemnation he had been expecting.

"So you're going to be death if things go wrong." Kate put the tray of food down on the table beside his bed and glanced at the scout. "You ok with that?"

"Worse things than dying, Kate." He watched the blonde flinch at those words and regretted the hurt they had caused, but reminded himself that given the situation the truth had to be faced no matter how painful it might be. "If Arthur fails then at least I'll be quick about it."

Kate sat down on the bed and didn't look at him. Untying her ponytail she dragged her fingers through the grubby blonde tresses before twisting it back into the elastic band. Tristan watched her silently, enjoying the light upon her hair and the elegant arch of her neck as she raised her arms. He knew that she wasn't being deliberately seductive, merely buying time to think, but when she turned back to him something in his face must have given his thoughts away.

"I'm not her," Kate said quietly. "I'm not Isolde."

The words should have been a warning, or at least hurt, but Tristan couldn't bring himself to find the emotions within himself. Instead he looked at Kate, her eyes dark and sad, but still making no attempt to leave. It was a surprise when she took his hand in hers, but not an unwelcome one.

"Isolde is dead," he said softly. "It's just you and I here now."

"And a few dozen casualties beyond that curtain. I know they're at the end of the ward, but still.." She gave a rueful smile. "You know you and I should have met up and had really great sex before you managed to get yourself shot to pieces."

Laughing hurt his damaged ribs, but Tristan couldn't help it.

"Maybe when this is all over.."

"Until then we'll let the kids have all the fun." Kate gave him a quick grin. "Gawain and Alice certainly seem to have smiles on their faces recently."

"Jesus." Tristan closed his eyes. "Two of the most cheerful people I've ever met breeding. Perhaps Saxon had the right idea."

"Oi." Kate gave him a poke on the undamaged side of his chest. "Alice is my friend, and Gawain.."

"Needs a comb," Tristan finished wearily.

Kate looked as though she might give a retort to that, but obviously couldn't think of one. Instead she fixed her eyes on the rapidly cooling mug of soup on the table and gripped Tristan's hand tighter.

"We're not going to win this, are we?"

"You have so little faith in Arthur?" Tristan was surprised at how quickly he came to the Commander's defence. Hadn't it been only a few months ago that he had gotten the ragged group of Samartians out of the prison and promised himself that he'd go his own way once they had found Hadrian's Wall? Why the hell was he defending, and worse trusting a man who was from the "Old Boy's Club" that had essentially destroyed his life? Kate cocked her head, her slim fingers entangled in his, her hair golden in the dim light and he couldn't help the heat that hardened his cock and flushed his cheeks. _Maybe he had a concussion, _Tristan thought, _because now was not the time for thoughts like that, and Kate wouldn't welcome them, and he couldn't do anything for her anyway._

Kate's met his eyes, and then drifted downwards. With one broken arm immobilised by a splint and the other trapped by her hand in his, there wasn't much he could do to disguise the tenting of the blankets.

"Kate.." _What the fuck was he supposed to say? Sorry but fucked up as we both are I really like you, and it's been a long time and you really turn me on?_

"Oh." She looked at him thoughtfully, dark eyes fathomless, before reaching out and flipping the blanket that covered him back onto his calves. She raised his hand to her mouth and bit gently into the fleshy part of the palm she was holding, while the other hand slid down his stomach. Tristan couldn't help it, he groaned and had his hands not been immobilised he'd have gotten himself off before Kate had even touched him. _How long had it been since he had been touched like that? _

"You don't have to." It was more of a sigh than a sentence, as she bent down to capture his lips, but even though Kate had wrapped her hands around his cock and was pumping slowly, Tristan managed to find enough breath in his body to give her a chance to say no.

She gave a smile that was almost triumphant and quickened the pace of her hand, brushing his glans with every stroke and slicking the pre-cum down his shaft. Kate's mouth was hot and sweet as she bent down and kissed him, her hair a soft tickle against his cheeks, the weight of her body careful of his injuries but close enough to make him want to fuck her into next week His balls tightened, and it took all of his self control not to yell as he came.

"Okay?" She whispered against his mouth, her hand leaving his shaft and settling on his stomach.

_Okay? Jesus, that didn't begin to cover what had happened just then. _Instead he responded with a "yes" that was more of a croak than an actual syllable.

Kate sat up and cleaned him up with a primness that was almost amusing given what she had been doing only a moment earlier. Dropping the messy tissue in the bucket that served as a dustbin, she gave him a grin.

"You know, I kinda liked being in charge like that."

"I'm not complaining." The words were an effort to form, but despite that, whatever she saw in his eyes made Kate smile. Walking over to the bed she pulled up the blankets. He'd knocked the box with the extra ammunition with his shoulder and she straightened that up too, looking just a little too long at the gun on top.

"Let's hope you don't have to use this," she said quietly. "Not unless it's against the Saxons."

"Have a little faith." The words were out of his mouth before he realised what he was saying, and had he had the energy Tristan would have laughed. Zara Taduz might have been a murderous, psychotic bitch, but she had one thing right. When it came to Arthur Castus he definitely had a way of making people believe in him.

Kate gave a rueful smile and pulled back the curtain that separated Tristan from the rest of the silent ward. "I'll settle for hope and a decent back up plan."

**A/N – this is a bit of a detour but the scene really needed to be separate from the next chapter, so, smut this time, action in the next chapter. Thanks very much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing.**


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Are you sure, Sir? It's a hell of a risk."

Arthur met Bors's shrewd brown eyes and felt a weary amusement at the big man's hesitancy. He'd expected it from the ex-squaddie's more level-headed cousin, but Dagonet's grey eyes were unflinching when he glanced at the bigger man.

"If you have any doubts then it's best to speak up now," Arthur replied. "We've got a very small window of opportunity, and I need everyone to be on board one hundred percent. If you'd rather play another part in this then tell me now."

"I'll do it." Dagonet spoke up before Bors could answer. "Bastard has it coming, I'd rather it was me than one of the others."

"Dag!" Bors struggled for words. "If this is about Fulcinia then I'm pretty fucking sure that topping yourself isn't the best way of honouring her memory."

Dagonet ignored his cousin and faced Arthur with calm stoicism. "I'm volunteering, Sir. Han has already explained things, I know what to do."

The door to Arthur's office opened and Guinevere slipped in, closing it behind her. Glancing at the three men she paled slightly at the expression on Dagonet's face and gave him an attempt at a smile.

"Galahad and Gawain have got things set up at the east block, and everyone in the camp has been debriefed." Walking over to Arthur, she pulled a television remote control from her pocket. "Han says don't press the channel five button until you have to. The tape'll stop it from going off accidentally, but, and I quote Burgess,"if you feel like taking a crap then take it out your pocket first.""

"Good girl." Squeezing her shoulder, Arthur carefully took the device from her. "How are Han and Burgess getting on?"

Guinevere shot the big Commander a smile. "I'd say about one more conversation extolling the virtues of eighties Heavy Metal away from a civil partnership."  
"Han and Burgess?" Bors asked dubiously. Keeping clean and presentable after the virus was pretty difficult, but Merlin's explosives man seemed to have managed better than most; certainly he looked a world away from the munitions expert's haphazard attempts at personal grooming.

"Apparently he met his wife at a Metallica concert," the dark haired woman replied with a sigh. "I'm not sure whether that's more or less romantic than meeting someone in a post apocalyptic hell-hole, but I'd like the chance to discuss it further after we've survived Saxon."

"And they say romance is dead," Bors murmured. Shifting in his cheap folding chair, the stocky man held out a hand to the tall man beside him. "You ready for this Dag?"

"As I'll ever be." Dagonet gave his cousin a brief clap on the shoulder. "Let's get going shall we Sir?"

Arthur nodded. "Tell Gawain and Galahad we're on. Fifteen minutes. Any problems then come to me first. Gentlemen it's been a pleasure, come back in one piece and I'll tell you where Germanius hid his whisky."

"Gentlemen?" Bors gave a derisive snort. Getting up from his chair he paused. "Don't get yourself killed out there, Arthur. Us lot have just got used to you."

"Duly noted."Arthur watched as his men left his office and double checked the Glock that was set aside on his desk.

"It's going to be really close isn't it?" Guinevere asked softly. Walking over to the Commmander she put her own Baretta next to his . "Do you think Saxon is going to buy this?"

Giving her a quick one-armed hug and kissing her on the top of her head, Arthur quickly looked her gun over. "Saxon is expecting explosions and that's what we'll give him. We have to do this now on our terms – Zara's dead and he probably won't be thinking straight; we have to use the advantage while we can."

"I know." Guinevere took the gun from him and tucked it in her pocket."I'm with you, everyone is – I'm just afraid for you. Saxon wants you and Tristan now most of all."

"Worry about yourself." Tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, Arthur kissed Guinevere deeply. "If you run out of ammo then get out of there – no heroics alright. Watch your back and be careful of snipers. I love you."

"Love you too." Reluctantly pulling away from his embrace, Guinevere unclasped the chain that encircled her neck. "Mum bought me this when I was little. Dad always kept it for me when I went out scouting. I don't know, maybe it's lucky – give it back to me afterwards ok?"

"Deal." Arthur wove the chain around his wrist and watched as the pretty brunette walked out of the room. Picking up his Glock, he opened the door that served as an emergency exit and headed for the the big building that housed what was left of the fort's vehicles.

It wasn't much of a surprise to see Lancelot leaning against the wall, his weight shifted off his wounded leg, his brown eyes appraising.

"Alright bruv?" He sounded calm but curious, and Arthur couldn't really blame him. His brother had an uncanny ability to see through him, and what he was about to do went against his nature.

"The man has killed at least forty of our people and would have finished the rest of us off if Galahad hadn't stopped him. Merlin's man got everything out of him." He did not meet his brother's eyes when he thought about just how the information had been extracted. "He's been in contact with Saxon the whole time. We've got precious few advantages here, Lance, and very little time. Saxon's waiting for the bomb to go off - at least this time we know when he's coming."

Lancelot nodded, but his dark eyes were sad when they fixed upon his brother. "I'm not judging, hell I'd probably do worse to the bastard, but in the event any of us live through this are you going to be able to live with what you're going to do?"

"I don't know." The noise of the refugees and soldiers getting into place was muffled by the concrete, but the urgency of their actions was almost tangible in the air, and Arthur put a hand on the damp wall to centre himself. _God, so many lives depended on him not fucking this up..._

Lancelot's hand on his arm was surprising but not at all unwelcome.

"Want me to give you a kick up the arse or remove the stick from it?" Lancelot gave him a quick hug and then almost shoved him away as though embarrassed to have done so. "I've got your back."

"Make sure you watch your own." He gave a grin that was matched by Lancelot's smirk. "I've got enough to do without having to bury you." Pushing open the door to garage he almost didn't hear Lancelot's "I'm too pretty to die" retort. The smile that provoked faded swiftly as he stepped into the dimly lit building. General Germanius's sleek silver Rolls Royce sat elegantly in the almost empty hanger, her beauty only diminished by the man who was tied to steering wheel.

"We're ready to go, Sir." Han, Merlin's explosives expert looked up at the interruption. "Five second detonator, the nitro will take out everything within a thirty yard radius."

Thomas glared at him from the front seat of the car, clearly wishing to snarl with rage, but his efforts were thwarted by the clear tape that sealed his lips. Arthur felt a brief pang of pity before reminding himself that the Irishman had killed dozens of innocents in cold blood and had attempted killing dozens more. With a half smile to Han, he checked the cheap watch on his wrist. The second hand swept slowly around the dial. 5..4...3...2...1

The blast was so loud that it sounded like the wrath of God.

* * *

The bomb that went off in the toilet block was deafening, but at least this time not lethal, Gawain thought dazedly. Wriggling onto his side, the damp grass was uncomfortable beneath him, but a far better alternative to the blazing debris that would have resulted had Thomas's bomb gone off. _God/Goddess/whatever thank Han and his pyrotechnics, _he thought gratefully_. _Lifting his head surreptitiously, he found a scene of utter devastation. The refugees were playing their parts well – two dozen men and women were sprawled inelegantly around the ruined building, bits of brick and mortar artfully scattered around them, and if he hadn't been debriefed he would have assumed them to be dead. Galahad winked at him and the blond suppressed a grin. The cotton wool stuffed in his ears prevented him from hearing much, but after removing it and hearing the two men yelling their heads off and doused in what what was left of the ketchup in the kitchen , he reckoned anyone lured close enough to attack by the explosion would probably be fooled.

"Gawain!" the hoarse whisper from the body nearby made him jump, and Gawain forced himself to remain still.

"What?" He retorted as quietly as he could.

Bors's voice was almost petulant. "Now the toilets are blown to shit you realise we'll all be pissing in the bushes from now on."

"Not exactly our main prio..." The sound of gunfire and another explosion that made the ground shake beneath them cut his words off, and curling his fingers around his rifle, Gawain gave Galahad a rueful grin before rolling to his knees and taking aim at the Saxons flooding through the newly blasted hole in Hadrians Wall.

* * *

The explosion that came from Han's dummy bomb shuddered through the garage, and everyone inside held their collective breaths. It seemed to be an eternity, but was perhaps only ten minutes before the lookout set off the ancient air raid siren.

"Good luck Dagonet," Arthur said solemnly, handing the big ex-squaddie the detonating device.

"And you, Sir." Sliding into the Rolls Royce, he hunkered down in the space where the newly removed passenger seat had been.

"Give 'em hell mate," Burgess said, closing the door and flicking the switch that opened the electric door to the garage. As the steel barrier raised, Dagonet had a brief glimpse of several hundred of Saxon's men battering down the gate to the fort and racing up the hill before grabbing the steering wheel and ramming his hand down onto the gas pedal. The Rolls roared into life, wheels briefly spinning in an attempt at purchase on the concrete floor before rocketing out the garage and down the hill towards the invaders. Keeping low, he flinched as a bullet shattered the windscreen, showering him with glass, another slamming into the bonnet and ricocheting away. Over the roar of the engine he heard someone shout "Cease fire, it's Thomas," and mentally counted down.

Ignoring the trapped man beside him – _he would not, could not think about that,_ he counted to three before reaching for the door, throwing it open and inelegantly throwing himself out of the car. The grass did little cushion his fall, and winded, for a moment Dagonet could do little but gasp for breath and watch as the car hurtled towards the Saxons. When it was close enough to have them fleeing the runaway vehicle he kissed the little remote control in his hand, whispered "This is for you, Fulcinia," pressed the innocuous looking fifth button, and closed his eyes as the world exploded in white light.

* * *

Lancelot winced and looked away as the car bomb detonated. Concealed on the med-bay's roof he had a perfect view of the carnage. The screams were bone-chilling, but he forced himself to focus. Given his injury he was better suited as a sniper rather than out on the field, but the guilt he felt as he saw his friends race out and take their positions was fierce. _Still, _he thought, picking off a man who was aiming at Dagonet as he staggered towards the cover of the wall, _he could still be of some use. _A big, blonde man was yelling at his obviously confused men, and Lancelot realised with a shiver that he was most likely Saxon. _Take him out and the whole lot of them will crumble..._

He aimed carefully, but he had neither Tristan's skill nor experience and the first shot went wide, the second slamming into the man next to him and sending Saxon darting for cover. Lancelot swore to himself. The big man was using the half ruined wall as cover and he no longer had a clear shot. Glancing around he winced as he saw Galahad lying motionless on the ground by the garage and forced himself to focus, putting a bullet in the head of the man who was approaching his downed friend with his gun raised. The man fell forward, covering the young man. _Nothing you can do. Focus on the others,_he told himself fiercely.

_Arthur? Where was Arthur?_ _There. _His big brother looked calm, picking off two men from his position beside the garage. A flash of movement and he cried out, despite knowing that Arthur could not possibly hear him. He needn't have worried – Arthur sensed the man coming up at him from behind and had kicked him in the stomach before he could raise his gun. A slam of the Saxon's head into the wall and the threat was over.

An almost primal series of howls came from the forest, and suddenly Saxon's men were being attacked from behind. One man dropped suddenly, a crossbow bolt slicing into his neck, and Lancelot grinned as he saw a fleeting glimpse of Merlin in the trees. The old hippy had refused a gun, saying that the best ways were the old ways, and as his next target was felled before he could get a shot off with another arrow, maybe the daft old coot had a point.

The air was alive with gunfire, screams and only half audible orders from the Commanders of both sides, but, Lancelot thought with a surge of hope, they were winning. Pinned in the grassy slope between the forest and the fort, there was precious little cover, and the Saxons were getting picked off faster than they could fire. Merlin's men were killing those who tried to flee, and the refugees and his fellow Samartians were felling those who got close enough to the fort with a savagery he would not have expected from the previously meek and terrified people he had seen in camp. The battle was over in what seemed like an eternity but must have lasted only minutes. Glancing down, Lancelot saw with relief and consternation Gawain dragging an inert Galahad out from under the dead Saxon and into the relative shelter of the garage, and Bors, obviously out of ammo punching out a man who was making a last desperate attempt to re-load before grabbing a limping Dagonet and helping him back to the med-bay.

For the first time since the battle had started, Lancelot felt the restriction in his chest loosen enough for him to take a deep breath. The pretty sweep of grass that led to the forest was littered with bodies and what remained of Germanius's Rolls Royce, _and Thomas, _Lancelot thought sickly, still blazed, but other than the ringing in his ears all was silent. Struggling to a sitting position and trying to ignore the pain in his leg, he almost didn't hear the shout that came from the direction of the forest, but looking around, what he saw made his heart sink. _Oh shit..._

* * *

Arthur willed himself to be calm as he saw Saxon emerge from wherever he had been hiding. The man's ice-blue eyes blazed with a rage that was well beyond sanity, his roars for Castus to come out and face him almost incoherent, but it was what he had trapped in his arms that truly chilled his blood. Guinevere was held by the throat, a gun to her temple. Saxon twisted and turned, dragging her around with him and presenting no clear target – obviously none of Merlin's men dared risking a shot, and looking up where Lancelot was positioned he met his brother's worried gaze and shook his head.

"I'm here." Walking out onto the killing field, Arthur held up his gun and approached the mad man. "Let her go, this is between you and me."

"She's your whore – come and get her. Thomas gave me quite the low down on you two. Bitch spread her legs for Honorius, now you. Reckon I might as well do her too."

"Let. Her. Go." Arthur tried to squash down his anger and focus. Whatever reason Saxon might have once had had obviously left him. "It's over."

"It was Gods will!" Saxon screamed. "It was his path! You cannot possibly understand how strong we.." His words were cut off by a howl of pain. When taking advantage of his lack of concentration, Guinevere had sank her teeth into the wrist holding the gun to her head. The gun went off, missing her by inches, but giving her the chance to twist out of his stranglehold. Arthur too took advantage of the opportunity. In two swift paces he'd withdrawn the knife tucked in his belt, grabbed Saxon by his shirt and stabbed him in the heart.

"We follow different Gods," he said quietly as the blond sank to the ground, the fire in his eyes guttering before glazing over. "We choose our own paths." He watched wearily as the last of Saxon's life ebbed away. Guinevere's hand slipping into his awakened him a little and he met her dark eyes.

"Come on," she said softly. "It's over. Let's go home."

**A/N: Er yes, sorry this took forever – writers block is umm a female dog. (sorry Tara, hope I didn't get you into trouble Annie, and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter or has been following the story.)**


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Kate flinched as yet another volley of gunfire rang out. Down in the med bay the sounds of the fighting outside were muffled, but somehow that made things worse. With nothing to do but sit and wait, her imagination tried to fill in what her eyes could not see, and the images in her mind were steadily worsening: Saxon mowing down Arthur and his men with rifle fire. The refugee camp awash with blood. The line of men who even now might be getting ready to batter down the door and do Gods only knew what with the people with her...

"Kate." Tristan's voice was quiet and calm, and shifting on the bed she was perched upon, Kate gave the main who lay in it a wobbly smile, hoping she looked braver than she felt.

"This is _so_ not fun," she said with a rather shrill sounding giggle.

"Have a little faith," he said softly. Taking her hand he squeezed it, and for a moment Kate wanted to punch him. _How the hell could he be so calm when in a few minutes he might have to start executing people, herself included? _Alice saved her from having to respond. Curled up on the floor by the bedside table for reasons only known to herself, the blonde girl glared at Tristan as though he'd said something personally offensive.

"What are you, Tristan?" she said tersely. "Some bloody machine sent from the future with no human emotions? Some of us are a little bit worried that these are our final moments and you look cool as a sodding cucumber. Those are our friends getting shot at out there – _Gawain_ is getting shot at out there." She burst into tears, and Kate slid off the bed and took Alice in her arms. She didn't bother with soothing words, as honestly, what could she actually say? With her face buried in Alice's tangled hair it took a moment to realise that Tristan had spoken and another couple of seconds to realise what he had said.

_The firing's stopped._

Raising her head, she listened. The silence was deafening, and peeking through the curtain that shielded Tristan's bed from the rest of the med bay, Kate realised why. Several dozen refugees sat along the wall, eyes wide, all of them holding their breath and waiting for what would happen next. A little boy sat on his mother's lap, eyes curious as he spotted her, and Kate felt her heart almost slam against her ribs. _In a couple of minutes she would either be helping he and his mother out of this place or watching Tristan put a bullet in his head..._

The sound of footsteps down the stairs was as loud as thunder and indeed the air in the room almost crackled with electricity.

_Rap, rap, rap _upon the door_. _Five more knocks and she was on her feet before realising what she was doing, almost knocking Alice over. Racing to the door, she scrambled to unlock it, and coming face to face with a tired looking Arthur Castus, threw her arms around him.

"Er.." Realisation of what she was doing and meeting the wide brown eyes of Guinevere who was watching with surprise, had the blood rushing to her cheeks. Stepping back, she dropped her head in embarrassment, a little reassured when the big man patted her on the shoulder in a paternal fashion before extricating himself from her embrace.

"It's OK." Guinevere gave her a rueful smile as she followed Arthur inside. "I'd have done the same thing."

Kate give a wobbly laugh, her emotions still trying to work out what to do with themselves. Walking hesitantly up the steps, she winced at seeing the pile of bodies on the previously pretty sweep of grass that led to the forest and the smouldering remains of what might have once been a car. There was an unmistakable smell of gasoline and charred flesh in the air and she turned away hurriedly. The Wall was a wreck. Chunks of concrete littered the ground, and somewhere a watertank must have been hit, because a spray of water was creating a very pretty rainbow over the very bloody remains of a couple of very dead men. Several people were either carrying or helping casualties towards the medbay, and her inner practicality kicked in. Bounding back down the stairs, she got the attention of the refugees who were looking at Commander Castus as though he was the next coming of Christ.

"Unless you've got medical training, everyone out!"Kate said with as much authority as she could muster. "People with kids go to what's left of the mess hall and wait there. Everyone else.."

She suddenly realised that both Arthur and Alice were staring at her, and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. There was a brief moment of utter silence before Arthur gave an exhausted chuckle and turned to the huddled people.

"You heard the lady. Those of you who can, help the others in clearing the bodies and do what you can to get this place in some sort of order. Kate, can you and Alice get more hot water going? I can't see the generator here holding up."

Nodding, she went to grab Alice, before changing her mind and darting towards Tristan, who, bastard that he was, looked almost amused at her discomfort. Leaning down, she kissed him deeply, feeling somewhat gratified when he grabbed her shoulder with his good hand and didn't seem to want to let her go when she pulled away.

"Sorry Sir,"she said unrepentantly when she met the eyes of the somewhat startled Commander. "Won't happen again."

"That would be a pity," she heard Sasha mutter as she hurried past her, following Alice who was no doubt looking for Gawain.

* * *

Gawain's legs shook as he made his way to the med bay. He'd half carried Galahad back from the pub after a bender a couple of times, but he'd never seemed to be as heavy as this before. _That was before the TX-Zero_, he thought hazily. _Gal had lost weight since then; there wasn't much food around so they all had. _Shifting his friends weight over his shoulder, he staggered slightly, and felt the urge to be sick as the unmistakable sticky slide of blood ran down his back and dampened his shirt.

"Gawain!" Alice's voice rang out, and looking around, he saw her racing towards him, dark hair flying like a silky flag behind her. The relief at seeing her obviously unharmed weakened his knees and he stumbled, only to be caught by her hands catching his arm.

"Easy." Grabbing onto Galahad's belt, she helped support his weight and together they made their ways to the infirmary. Laying the unconscious young man onto one of the hastily assembled camp beds that were serving as back up as the main beds were filled, Gawain felt the urge for the first time since they'd started fighting, to panic. Blood soaked Galahad's hip and his left leg, and his face was so pale that he almost looked dead. _He should have been more careful to cover him. He should have gotten him to help faster. He should have..._

"Stop it." Alice's words were quiet but emphatic. "Everyone did the best they could." She had bandage pressed to Galahad's side and was deftly checking his vital signs, but she obviously knew him well enough to know what he was thinking, Gawain realised. _Either a witch or his soulmate, _he thought blurrily. "Straight through and through," she muttered to herself. "Might have cracked his pelvis though. Sarah might..."

"Sarah's busy." Sasha bustled over like a mother hen - curvy, middled aged and possibly the most welcome sight Alice had ever seen. "Let's have a look at the lad." Clever, gentle fingers probed Galahad's wound and checked his vitals. Her eyes narrowed under her curtain of blonde hair, but her smile was reassuring when she looked up at Alice. "I'll clean and stitch him up, but he'll be ok. He's lost quite a bit of blood and he's still in shock, but it's soft tissue damage and that, thank the goddess we can fix without too much trouble. Now, get that young man of yours to sit down somewhere before he falls over."

"I'm not..."Gawain protested.

"Now." Sasha interrupted, taking a syringe out of her pocket and breaking the plastic wrapper. "I can't work without you two standing over me, and I don't need another patient – I've got enough already. Alice take him somewhere and get him a cup of tea. You can both come back later."

Alice nodded and took Gawain's hand. "Come on." Tugging him forward gently, they left the med bay. Gawain's eyes flicked across the scene and he felt his stomach sink. They might have won, but all victories came at a cost, and the young man rushing off with an armful of bloodied bandages and the screams of someone at the far end of the room was a too visceral reminder. The sight of Dagonet, sat on a bed, his knee propped up and Bors obviously giving him a world class bollocking cheered him up a little, and he made a mental note to use the term _"the most fucking suicidal fuckwit who ever tried to get his fucking arse killed"_ when Galahad woke up. But then they were outside and the sunshine was hot and bright as though the sun was curiously looking to see what had happened on their little planet, and Alice was in his arms, whispering things he didn't quite hear, and he was so tired that it was easiest just to hang on to her for a few minutes and take comfort in something sweet.

* * *

When darkness came the sparks of the funeral pyres snapped and sparked through the black . There were two; one for the refugees at the fort who had died defending their home, and another for Saxon and his men. The former was surrounded by mourners – friends and people who thought of those that had fought beside them as friends and regretted not knowing the men and women that had died better. The latter was a fire that burned as brightly as Saxon's madness and guttered and faded into darkness as quickly as the man himself had.

Tucking her knees up against her chest, Guinevere listened to Arthur read out the names of the lost, commend them for their bravery, and talk of a new future. One that they would all forge together. The refugees listened as did the Samartians, and she wondered at the thought that it hadn't been that long ago that there hadn't seemed to be any hope at all. Watching as Arthur turned, the firelight catching his eyes and echoing the blaze of conviction in his words, she smiled.

"Hello dad." Merlin was quiet, but he wasn't _that_ quiet she thought with a smile. And she was after all her father's daughter. No-one got the drop on her unless one of her "people" were in danger. Surrendering to Saxon hadn't been her smartest move, especially as Gavin, the teenager that Saxon had used as a hostage had had his throat cut as soon as she'd laid down her gun.

"Daughter mine." The grey haired man settled himself down in the dark corner against the Wall Guinevere had chosen for herself. "Still hiding away? I thought you'd be down there with Castus."

Guinevere gave a sad smile that was hidden by the shadows. "I'm not hiding, I'm watching." She watched the group of what might be left of the English people. "I was stupid enough to get caught by Saxon. I nearly got Arthur killed. He almost got killed for me. I know he doesn't blame me, but going out there would be wrong. People are dead and nothing is going to make that right."

Merlin didn't say anything for a long time, and Guinevere watched the flit and flutter of bats illuminated by the glow of the fire. It was getting cold and the ridges of the wall were probably etched upon the flesh of her back. Going to bed was probably a very good idea, but she wasn't quite sure which bed to go to. Arthur might not want her now that she had proved her total incompetence, and there were a dozen women at least at the camp who would gladly take her place judging from the looks she'd seem them giving him. Women who were whole, hadn't been used as playthings or...

"Guinevere." Her father's voice was firm and she looked at him automatically. "If you love him, go to him."

"What if he doesn't want me?" The words were almost a whisper. "I messed up..."

"So did he with not seeing Thomas for what he is, so did I and all of us for trusting Zara. Does that stop you loving him or me?"

"How can you even ask that?" Getting to her feet, Guinevere glared at her father. "Of course I love you. Zara had everyone fooled, and Arthur..after what Honorius did to me do you think I'd let just anyone touch me? No-one saw Thomas for what he was."

"Exactly." Merlin's voice was low and Guinevere blinked back the tears at the love she heard in it.

Dropping to her knees, she kissed her father on the cheek and was back on her feet almost as quickly. Running down the grassy slope towards the huddled mass of survivors, Arthur's smile of relief at seeing her gave her courage, and the feeling of his arms around her was the first time she dared think of a future.

**A/N Oh I'm a soppy cow aren't I? After all that violence I thought a bit of tlc was in order for the boys and girls. As of now this is an open AU - I'm always willing to help anyone with questions, but you don't have to ask if you'd like to write something for it. I'll probably write one more little epilogue chapter, but the story is pretty much finished now. Cheers everyone who has been following the story, given feedback and support and generally kept me going x**


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Alice?"

It took a moment for the blonde girl to drag herself out of her half slumber, recognise Galahad's voice and respond. Uncurling herself from the plastic chair that she'd dragged beside the hospital bed, she stood up on wobbly legs, eyed the side of bed and instead leant against the bedside table. Reaching for the dark haired man's hand, she gave him a rueful smile.

"Sasha said you should stay still, so stay still, ok? I've got painkillers if you want – two every four hours." Letting go of Galahad's hand she reached for the little plastic bottle that had been left on the table beside the bed and shook out a couple of pills. He took them and swallowed them dry, although he accepted a drink of water from the jug by the bed afterwards.

"Thanks." Galahad backhanded the moisture from his lips and settled back down on the pillows. Nodding towards the corner of the makeshift hospital room, he smiled at the sight of Gawain fast asleep on a fold up bed far too small for him.

"He ok?"

"Yeah." She brushed back the hair escaping from her ponytail. "He'll be fine, especially now that he knows that you'll be alright."

"Sounds like you're looking out for him pretty well."

Alice shrugged. "I wasn't out there fighting. I wish I could have..." Exhaling slowly, she looked at Galahad sadly. "I wish I could have done more." Her fingers plucked absently at the corner of one of the blankets that covered the injured man, and she jumped slightly when he touched her shoulder.

"Do you love him?" Galahad's eyes were kind but serious, and since Kate wasn't around and Gawain was fast asleep, it didn't seem to be such a bad thing to admit what she'd felt almost as soon as she'd met the blond Samartian.

She nodded quickly. "But don't tell him."

"Pinkie swear," Galahad said solemnly. Raising his arm he wiggled the little finger of his right hand at her. "But you hurt him and I'll kill you." Alice gave a huff of a laugh and shook her own pinkie finger with his.

"Not going to happen, and you'd better keep your promise," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're going to be in bed for a while and I'm going to be the one bringing you your food." From down the end of the medical bay Sarah called her name, and Alice sighed, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes. "Better go, I'll be back when I can. Kate'll be around in a bit with some broth for you, and make sure you tell Gawain to get something to eat as well if I'm not back." Pausing to toss a spare blanket over the sleeping man crashed out on the camp bed, Alice grabbed her discarded apron and slid through the curtain separating the beds from the rest of the patients.

"If you don't want her I'll have her," Galahad muttered almost under his breath.

"You try it and I'll rip your bloody head off." Gawain opened sleepy blue eyes. "That's my girl you're talking about."

Galahad turned over on his side, and wincing, re-thought the action. Almost immediately Gawain had kicked off his blanket and hurried to his friend's side.

"Careful." He eased the younger man onto his back. "You rip your stitches and I'll have to be the one repairing them as everyone else seems to be busy."

"Fuck that." Galahad breathed through the pain until it became tolerable. "I saw the napkin you made for your mum in eighth grade – it looked like something a spider on LSD and with dyslexia would make."

"Dyslexia is to do with words not sewing," Gawain said, masking his concern with humour. Turning back the blankets he was relieved to see that there was no fresh blood staining the dressing on Galahad's side. "Could you try and manage not to damage yourself for five minutes?"

"Could you manage to stop fussing over me and tell Alice that you love her before one of the far better looking soldiers make a play for her?"

"Idiot." Gawain tucked the covers over his friend. "You don't just up and tell girls that. You show them first."

Galahad eyed Gawain warily. "Is that a euphemism for some weird sexual position? Because if so I want details; there's a very pretty girl in the camp that I've got my eye on.."

"Pervert." Gawain yawned and stretched with a grunt of satisfaction. "I was just thinking of being a bit more romantic than telling her when she's not surrounded by people bleeding all over the place. Now get some sleep."

"Bet you pick her flowers," Galahad said as a parting shot as the blond pushed aside the curtain.

"Shut up pup or you'll get another couple of holes in you," Gawain retorted before disappearing out of sight.

"The poppies by the shower block I reckon then," Galahad murmured to himself. And really, it wasn't that bad of an idea. The young blonde he had an eye on might go for flowers along with the wounded hero thing, and Gawain was usually good at giving advice even if it was inadvertent... Closing his eyes, Galahad let exhaustion and painkillers do their thing and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Kate made her way towards the infirmary with a feeling of peace that she hadn't felt since before the Tx-Zero had struck. She was beyond tired, but the wounded were as comfortable as they could be, and although she'd felt a bit of a third wheel standing beside Alice and Gawain who had snuggled against each other as they had listened to to Arthur give his speech, there had been a strange sort of magic in the air.

_Odd,_ Kate thought to herself. In the light of the funeral pyres the ruins of the base looked almost regal. The refugees stoic and determined – even the oldest made beautiful by the firelight and new hope. They'd fought together, mourned together, and looking up at Arthur Castus standing on a pile of rubble and somehow making it seem like an emperor's podium, she wished that she had a videocamera, or was skilled at painting or pretty words to keep the moment for future generations.

And there would be future generations, for the first time since the virus had struck she believed that to be true. Lancelot smiled at her as she walked past, but the pretty blonde who was half holding him up, half wrapped around him gave her a glare, and stifling a smile, Kate gave a quick wave and kept on going.

Passing Bors and Dagonet who were resting against the wall of the infirmary, she walked over when they hailed her.

"Alright love?" Bors's voice was kind, and the almost paternal warmth of Dagonet's smile had tears welling up in her eyes before she had a chance to shove her emotions down.

"Kate?" Bors scrambled to his feet and took her arm gently as she tried to brush away the tears that her stupid body insisted on producing against her will. "It's alright." Letting herself be pulled into his embrace, Kate let herself relax for a moment. The big man was warm and solid and safe, and when she took a deep breath and looked up there was no judgement in his eyes. "Reckon I'm not the one you want right now."

"I think I dribbled on your shirt," Kate blurted, backhanding the snot from her nose and realising that the alternative of wiping it on her clothing which would be totally disgusting, was wiping it on the grass which seemed somehow worse.

"Here." Dagonet fished around in his pocket and found a crumpled tissue. It might not have been fresh, but it was better than nothing, and so Kate took it, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Sorry." She made to give Dagonet the tissue back and when he raised his eyebrows at her, laughed and tucked it into her pocket instead. "Yeah, I should probably keep that."

The big soldier gave her a sweet sad smile that given his size and intimidating presence shouldn't have fit so well on him. "Go and find our scout, Kate."

_Busted.._

Her surprise must have shown, because Bors gave a low chuckle. "Come on luv; it's been pretty obvious, and who knows you might actually cheer up the mental, murderous bastard."

"That's.." Kate struggled for the right words. "Encouraging."

Bors gave her a bright smile and she smiled back without thinking. Walking swiftly towards the steps that led down to the modest hospital, she took a moment to take in the sight before her. If any of the patients were awake they weren't making any noise, and those that slept in the uncomfortable beds were expected to live. The walls might have been drab concrete, the cots worn and out of date, but in them lay soldiers both male and female that would fight another day. Beneath a halogen lamp at the end of the ward Sasha and Sarah were kissing; their hair yellow gold, their bodies fitting together as though made for each other. With a smile, Kate pulled her gaze away and quietly walked over to Tristan's bed.

He didn't look too surprised to see her when she pushed the curtain aside, and she took a moment to just look at him in silence. He'd shoved the blanket that covered him down, obviously trying to get out of bed, and so she was free to run her eyes from the jut of his hip bones and over his taught stomach to his broad chest. In the dim light his eyes were amber, and when he unabashedly looked her over, she blushed.

"Tit" for tat," he said quietly."You look at me, I look at you."

"Fair enough." Kate gave him a soft smile. "When you're better we'll do that properly."

"Now why didn't the Nation Health Service think of incentives like that when they were around?" The scout beckoned her closer. "Come here, Kate."

She walked over to the bed, a little unsure of what to do. Sitting on the corner, Kate jumped slightly at the sound of cheering outside.

"It's alright."

"I know. I guess we got lucky with Arthur didn't we? Things could have gone so wrong... We all could have.." She looked at the gun still laid upon Tristan's bedside table, and watched as he followed her gaze, took the weapon and shoved it under his pillow.

"Won't be needing that tonight," he said quietly. "That time has gone."

"So not a killer today." Kate brushed her fingers over Tristan's cheek. "Can't say that I'm disappointed."

"No." Tristan took Kate's hand, tugging gently, and she kicked her legs up onto the bed and settled down on his uninjured side, letting the scout pull her against his shoulder.

"Ever thought about cutting your hair?" she muttered, batting away the lock of long dark hair that was tickling her nose. "You're too good a soldier to use the "I'm a hippy" excuse."

"You could do it for me."

Kate pretended to think about that for a moment. It seemed like this was the first time that she could actually breathe since the virus had struck and that in itself was a bit strange. Tristan was warm, smelled of antiseptic, sweat and whatever the name was for himself. He was a killer, and way too good at his job, and she'd bashed a man's brains out only a few days ago, so they were probably a perfect match, she decided. The thought was so messed up that she giggled.

"What's so funny?" he asked blearily. The painkillers were kicking in, and Kate was more of a fuzzy golden shadow than anything else.

"Just thinking that the world has a weird way of making sense," she murmured. From the way his breathing had slowed he probably hadn't heard her, she reasoned, but laying her head upon his chest she figured that it probably didn't matter. There would be time for talking tomorrow, and all the days that came after that.

* * *

Guinevere took a moment to take in the view before stepping out of the barracks. The fort was a wreck; there were still chunks of stone too large to be picked up without help scattered around, and the remnants of adrenaline, grief and panic were a thick unseen miasma around the Wall. _But the __wind was blowing... Time cleansed everything, and already hope was the sun burning away the darkness. Everything was different and yet strangely the same._

It wasn't hard to find Arthur. He looked exhausted, but the dead were buried, the refugees safe, and when she kissed him he still felt the same. The same solid build, the same dark hair that curled around her fingers. His hazel eyes held the same weary worry and tenderness, and taking his hand she led him back to his quarters. He tried to be kind, but she would have none of it. She stripped him of his clothes before divesting herself of hers and pulled him onto the bed without talk or explanation.

His body was hard and heavy when he pushed himself inside of her and his eyes were worried.

_Oh and wasn't that just her man? Always thinking of everyone else... _

"It's alright." Tucking her heels around his thighs, Guinevere bucked her hips and met him thrust for thrust, stroking her hands over his back. She came first, but it wasn't long before he followed her, and Guinevere gripped the muscles of his back as though by doing so she might keep them trapped in the moment.

He tasted of sweat when she licked his shoulder, and was far too heavy on her chest until he rolled over and she snuggled against his side.

"How does this work; do I have to ask your father permission to marry you?" The words were almost inaudible, but Guinevere smiled, rolling over onto her back.

"I don't belong to him or you or anyone else." She looked at the ceiling and hunted for the right words. "But my heart is yours. So's Britain at the moment; I don't reckon you asked for any of that."

Arthur kissed Guinevere's cheek. "As my brother would say, I got the girl. The rest is going to take a lot of working out."

"You'll do it though." She put her hand over his heart. "This can be a new start for all of us."

"Such faith." Arthur pulled the slender brunette onto his chest and cupped her face in his big hands. "Witch woman, can you see into the future?"

"'course I can." Wriggling out of his embrace, she made a makeshift sarong out of one of the blankets and padded over to the window, pushing aside the grubby curtains. The light that flooded the spartan room was gold and red with the dawn light, and Guinevere's dark hair shone black gold, her eyes soft with love when she looked back at him. "The sun rises, so will we."

"That we will." Guinevere came to him and kissed him sweetly before snuggling down and going to sleep, but Arthur lay awake until the sunlight was too bright to ignore.

_The old world had been ripped apart, and the new one had been essentially thrust into his command. Better not fuck it up..._

**A/N:Well there we are - the end. I hope everyone who got this far had fun reading it, I certainly had fun writing it. Thanks very much to all the readers and reviewers who kept me going and were generally awesome. Were it possible to give out proper cookies over the internet I would have been cooking all day.**

**As I've said before this is an open AU, so if you want to play in my sandbox then help yourself to a bucket and spade. Feel free to do what you like with it. I might do a few short bits and pieces for the "Chosen" verse in the future but we'll see.**

**The lovely Symphonia-Angel-Luna has made a beautiful banner for Kate and Tristan – the link is on my profile page. **

**(If you are looking for new fics then I'll shamelessly pimp out a couple that I really like: "Oblivious" by Lycanus and Gargoyle13, and "Silent Knight" by Sticklebatz.)**

**Tara, aka Sadie H – I've lost your email address and you don't accept PM's on here, that's why I haven't replied to you, sorry. Keep in touch?**


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